


Guilty

by kallistob



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Attempted Murder, Cheating, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Graves gets a hug, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, heed the tags, this is a pain train :]
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-10-29 06:18:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10848198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/pseuds/kallistob
Summary: “If he can be convincing enough in pretending he falls asleep, then yes. How good are you at acting, Mr. Scamander?”“Very,” Graves murmurs. Newt looks at him, and Graves is the one who turns his head away.-A modern AU. Newt cheats on Graves.**NOW WITH FANART !





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aly (leftaside)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftaside/gifts).



> Those waiting for my French!Graves story - this is the reason why it's late. 
> 
> Thank you to Alysae for her constant support and Funkspiel for beta reading. And the both of them for screaming at me as much as they did. 
> 
> This fic is my baby. I've been working non-stop on it, so hard, and I am proud of it. Please heed the warnings and the tags before you start to read - there will be lots of feels, angst and general pain in this fic. It's a wild ride from beginning to end.  
> Hanging scene from this chapter loosely inspired by Killing Stalking - Alysae and I discussed it and I rolled with it :)
> 
> It is all written out and updates will be regular. Please do comment, even if it's just inarticulate yelling. 
> 
> Enjoy !

 

* * *

 

                                            

* * *

 

The insignia feels foreign when he takes it between his hands and holds it up in front of his face, inspecting it. _Housing Authority Police_ , the gold engraving reads, and right below it:  _Detective_ in all caps. The badge is slightly dusty and Graves takes a tissue to wipe the surface before he finally admits to himself that he’s stalling and shakes his head.

He pins the insignia over his waistcoat; it gleams in the light of the bathroom, and Graves remembers the day when he first received it and he saw himself wearing it. He felt proud, back then; incredibly happy. His colleagues threw a party to congratulate him on officially becoming detective, and Graves had laughed and drank himself silly before starting to work on cases the next Monday.

The only thing he feels right now is a curl of dread in his stomach, threatening to choke him any minute, and he braces his hands on the sink and closes his eyes.

“My name is Percival Graves,” he says firmly. “I’m 42, I’m a detective residing in New York City and there are bad guys to catch. That’s my job.” The mantra works and he is able to breathe a little easier, somewhat.

Graves grabs the pomade in the cupboard and dips his fingers into it, smoothing his hair back into his usual neat style and grimacing at the amount of grey he sees on the sides. “Old man.”

He takes his coffee black and bitter in the kitchen and grabs a piece of toast. He doesn’t feel the taste as he nibbles on it, the anxiety returning once again, and he finds he has difficulty swallowing. God, this is becoming ridiculous. He’s been working on dull paperwork for over two months. He should be more than ready to go back to the field. There are no chances that what happened last time will happen again.

_But he wasn’t captured_ , his mind whispers, and Graves shuts it down.

“Shut up,” he says out loud.

“Percy? Who are you talking to?”

Newt just entered the room, half asleep, clad in nothing but his boxers and a much too large shirt that slips over one shoulder, revealing pale, freckled skin beneath. Graves swallows and looks away.

“Myself,” Graves admits. “Slept well?”

“Yeah.” Then Newt takes in his appearance, the suitcase on the table next to his gun, and frowns. “You’re taking back cases?”

“Yes, Newt, I told you last night. It’s - more than overdue. I’ll be back in a couple of days if everything goes well.”

Newt worries his bottom lip between his teeth, not looking at Graves. “Will you be alright? Do you need me to call you?”

“I - I don’t know,” Graves says honestly. He sees his hands are shaking slightly and clenches his fists. “But - I should be. And - I - I’ll have a surprise for you when I come back,” Graves tries, going for a mysterious effect but only managing to sound slightly strained.

“Oh?” Newt sounds strange. He turns away from Graves and puts the kettle on to make his usual morning tea.

“There’s hot water in the thermos,” Graves informs him, “And yes. You’ll see.”

“Alright.” Newt smiles, Graves’ favorite laugh lines appearing in the corner of his eyes. He wishes he could kiss them, could kiss Newt like he used to.

_Soon. If the mission succeeds. Soon I’ll be able to touch you._

“Well,” Newt says, taking his favorite honeyed cereal from the cupboard and dropping some in a bowl. Graves wrinkles his nose. A disgusting brand of cereal, honestly, but Newt insists upon buying it. “I’ll see you in a couple of days, then?”

-

_“You’ll like them,” he says in a rush, “I promise, Percy, they’re so good! Besides, they’ll feed you more than the half toast I find on the counter every morning.”_

_Graves shakes his head, looking down at the shopping list in his hand. “I told you already, I don’t like honey. And the toast is just fine.”_

_“You need to eat better than that, love,” Newt says. “What will I do if you starve to death?”_

_Graves rolls his eyes before grabbing Newt’s coat and pulling Newt flush against him, ignoring his squeak of protest. “Force feed me back to life like one of your animals, I’m sure,” he murmurs against Newt’s ear before kissing his forehead. Newt blushes. “Come on. We still have the vegetables to buy, and I need new shoes afterwards.”_

_Newt runs after him, catching up with Graves’ long, confident strides. “Wait! Don’t you already have like 30 pair of shoes, Mr. I have-money-and-I-know-it?”_

_Graves sniffs. “Barely. Only 10.”_

_“Oh, my apologies, milord.”_

_Graves makes a move as if to whack Newt’s arm and Newt avoids him, sticking his tongue out at Graves in a totally immature and adorable gesture. Graves feels himself melt and Newt smiles softly._

_“Alright,” he says. “Groceries, then shoes. Then we can go home.”_

_“Home,” Graves agrees._

_Their home._

-

“You will,” Graves confirms. He shakes himself out of his contemplation and looks at the clock on the mantle - he’ll be late for his train. “I gotta go.”

Newt waves at him, mouth full of cereal.

In the hallway, Graves quickly places his gun in his holster, a solid, reassuring weight against his thigh and grabs his coat. The length of it hides the gun from view and gives Graves a more impressive look, which can be really helpful when you’re dealing with criminals. It will work in his favor; at least he can make a good first impression back on the job. People don’t need to know a part of him only wants to turn back and run in the opposite direction. It doesn’t fit with the image they have - had - of him.

He’s ready. There’s only one thing left to do - Graves runs back to the kitchen, heart beating fast.

But the kitchen is empty when he arrives, and Graves swallows his disappointment. Distantly, he hears the sound of the shower running.

He really should go.

Newt’s phone pings on the kitchen table and Graves curiously looks at the message that appeared on screen, unable to help himself.  

 

**from : Credence Barebone**

_Sounds great! Do you want to go to the cinema?_

 

Graves smiles. At least Newt will be having fun while he’s away. Graves is aware that he hasn’t been the most - cheerful of partners the past couple of months, but he’s ready to fix that.

When he gets back from the mission. He’ll fix everything.

“Newt!” He calls. “Leaving!”

“‘Kay!” Newt’s muffled voice replies over the sound of the hair dryer. “Be careful!”

“Yes, Mummy,” Graves mutters to himself, smile on his lips. Newt still worries about him. Maybe everything’s not lost.

- 

He is greeted by familiar faces at the NPD police. They’re all glad he’s back, and Abernathy gives him a brief over the situation before telling him where to go and handing him the keys to one of their cars.

Graves nods and leaves New York.

On the way he prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that everything _please_ goes well. So much rests on the way this mission will turn out. His relationship, his job, his fucking sanity. He can do this. He knows he can.

“Can’t live in the past, need to move on, yada yada,” he says aloud, repeating the words his first therapist had told him right after the _incident_. Graves laughs, short and sharp, and turns the radio up.

_Anvil_ from Lorn comes on and Graves lets the electric sound lull him during his drive.

-

He did it.

Graves can hardly believe it.

Oh sure, he got a bit too close to the fire and his nose throbs, bloody from when the criminal slammed his head against a wall before dashing off and being intercepted by the police, but - _he did it!_

He solved the case! He found the missing link the officers in Philadelphia couldn’t, and he solved the case. There won’t be anymore people dying.

He feels elated.

Compared to his previous records, this case was easy - yet hard enough for Graves to get back into the game. The knot of fear in his stomach eased off as soon as he saw that the crimes didn’t have any similar pattern to Grindelwald’s work, and he was able to focus and get the job done in record time.

He could go home now.

Ease himself back into it. Catch the scum of New York on a daily basis and put them behind bars where they belonged, like he used to. Take control of his department once more. This was a test, and Graves passed it.

God, he can’t wait to tell Newt.  It’s barely five in the afternoon on Thursday, and Graves knows he wasn’t supposed to come home until Friday morning but the mission went so well - why wait any longer? He wants to give Newt his _surprise_. Newt will be happy. He’s always been happy about Graves’ successes, as has Graves been of his.

-

_Newt throws himself at him as soon as Graves walks through the door, and he makes a little surprised sound, case dropping on the floor as he gathers Newt up in his arms._

_“Newt? Love, what’s wrong?”_

_Graves realizes Newt’s crying, his shoulders shaking, and Graves is really worried now until Newt raises his head and smiles so brightly at him that Graves forgets to breathe for a moment._

_"Judith is saved!”_

_“Wha- oh!” Graves’ eyes widen as he understand. “The baby elephant?”_

_"Yes!” Newt is practically bouncing on his feet. His happiness is contagious and Graves feels himself smile. “You know, I didn’t like the way her caregiver was treating her so I stepped in and took care of her despite my other duties -”_

_“You literally slept at the zoo,” Graves says._

_“And it was worth it!” Newt cries. “I got a call from them and she’s out of danger now! I’ll be back home at a normal time again. Oh my god, Percy, I’m so happy, I can’t uuumf-”_

_Percival silences him with a kiss, deepening it when Newt’s lips part in surprise. Newt responds immediately, clinging onto Graves’ coat and Graves slowly drags his hands down until they’re resting over Newt’s hips, feeling his slim figure underneath the blue sweater he’s wearing. Newt sucks gently on Graves’ lower lip and Graves hums appreciatively before stepping forward, forcing Newt to back up until he’s pressed against the wall of the hallway. Their kisses turn heated. The new position allows Graves to press his body against Newt’s, cage him in entirely, and he slips a thigh between Newt’s parted legs to rub against his crotch. Newt pants in his mouth as he starts slowly rolling his hips against Graves’ thigh to relieve some of the pressure building within him._

_“I think,” Graves says, lowering his voice to a tone he knows will drive Newt mad, “That we should properly celebrate this victory in the bedroom.”_

_“Kiss me,” Newt says breathlessly in reply, and Graves laughs._

_“Yes, Sir.”_

_-_

Graves turns the key in the lock, silently entering his apartment. He takes off his coat and hangs it on the coat-rack, dropping his case on the floor and getting rid of his gun holster a second later. He hears music from his and Newt’s bedroom, and he imagines Newt must be sitting on their bed and drawing, as he sometimes does. Graves passes a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it back. He sees the bathroom and decides to brush his teeth and, thinking that this is as good as he’s going to look, remembers his accomplishment, imagines Newt’s surprise and pride, and walks towards their bedroom confidently for the first time in months, feeling a bit more like his older self.

The music is loud, and it’s not something he has ever heard Newt listen to - he thinks it’s hard rock or metal, given the screaming - and as he steps closer he hears another sound, this one familiar to him. A moan. Graves’ heart beats faster. Is Newt touching himself? That’s a bit too early for him, really, but it doesn’t mean he won’t enjoy the sight - he feels ready to. His mind imagines Newt’s squeal of surprise, his flushed, mortified face; the Graves in his head is confident, able to give Newt what he needs as he crawls onto the bed to join his lover. The image does not make him fearful, and Graves feels genuinely _happy_ and _normal_ -

Until he opens the door and sees them.

His smile vanishes.

The only thing he can hear is his heartbeat, loud in his ears, and Newt’s strangled moan of _oh, fuck, Credence_ until he opens his eyes through the haze of pleasure and sees Graves standing in the doorway.

The surprise, shock and horror on Newt’s face would be almost comical if it wasn’t disgusting.  

He should have seen it coming.

He really should have seen it coming.

Doesn't mean it doesn't fucking _hurts_.

Graves sags against the wall, unable to keep himself upright on his own. He hears movements around him, his face blank as Newt quickly makes himself decent again and throws Credence a shirt. The other man is mortified, looking on the verge of tears, and Graves doesn’t feel an ounce of compassion for him.

Credence leaves the room in a rush. Seconds later Graves hears the front door slam shut, and he stands up straight and looks at Newt. Newt is avoiding his gaze, and Graves can’t bear it.

“Look at me.”

Newt looks everywhere, the wall, the floor, his hands, over Graves’ shoulders, anywhere but at him.

Graves steps closer and Newt flinches as if Graves was going to hit him, but Graves merely cradles his head between his hands in a parody of a loving gesture and rasps out, “How long?”

“Percival-”

“Shut up,” he growls. “I’m the one asking the fucking questions here, Newt, given that I just surprised you in _my_ flat, in _my_ own bedroom, doing the horizontal tango with your best friend who is _not_ me.”

“So I’ll ask again,” He says, taking a deep breath. “How. Fucking. Long?”

“Over two months,” Newt whispers, terrified, his hands grabbing Graves’ and prying them away from him.

Graves closes his eyes. His hands find his face and his fingernails dig into his own skin as he screams into them. His vision blurs; betrayal, hurt, anger and incomprehension twisting inside him, settling their claws deep into his heart where he will never be able to forget them.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts. After a while he is not screaming anymore but talking, letting what’s running through his head at that moment out. “Fucking stupid. I’m so fucking stupid. I knew, I _knew_ it - Why would _you_ be any different?”

Unbidden, the ghost of a memory passes through his mind, and he feels himself choke on a sob.

- 

_They’re lying in bed together, Newt’s head against Graves’ chest while Graves slowly cards his fingers through his hair. The silence is comfortable, and Graves starts dozing off slowly, his eyelids drooping as he concentrates on the soft lull of Newt’s breathing, on his presence at his side, on how_ right _this feels._

_“What are you thinking about?” Newt asks quietly, running his fingers in soothing circles over Graves’ skin. Every now and then he passes them through Graves’ sparse chest hair, as if fascinated. Newt has an almost scientific approach to Graves’ body and the way it reacts to sensations, sometimes abusing Graves’ prostate and riling him up for a second orgasm just to see if he can bear it, and  it never fails to make Graves smile - once he’s managed to get over his shock and pleasure, that is._

_“I’m thinking about how good I feel right now,” Graves murmurs. New doesn’t reply and Graves frowns. “What’s wrong?”_

_“It’s just - it’s silly.”_

_“I’m sure it’s not,” Graves says gently. “Tell me.”_

_“It’s just - I have this voice in my head. And it’s mean, and it tells me that this is too good to last and you’ll end up realizing what a weirdo I am and that you deserve so much better and leave me -”_

_“You are,” Graves interrupts. “You’re a weirdo. You talk way too much about your animals, you’re socially awkward, never makes eye contact, cannot hold a conversation, doesn’t know how to interact with people, sometimes does highly illegal things where anyone can see - like take me to the zoo through a secret entrance in the middle of the night for a first date - and,” he says firmly, “I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”_

_“Really?” Newt says, voice small, and Graves pampers him with soft kisses until Newt is giggling._

_“Really. My weirdo,” he says fondly. “Besides, I have a voice like that too.”_

_“You do? What does it say?”_

_“That you’ll realize how damaged I am, how old, and that you’ll leave me for someone younger and prettier.”_

_“I would never!” Newt says, scandalized. “Besides, I like my men old and graying at the temples.”_

_“You do?”_

_“Yes, Daddy.”_

_“Oh my God, Newt. No, please,” Graves groans._

_“Sorry,” Newt turns his head and kisses Graves’ lips apologetically. “I had to.”_

_Graves tickles him in retaliation._

_It’s silly, they make a mess of the bed in minutes, and Graves has never felt happier in his life._

_-_

“Two months,” Graves repeats, and his heart drops as he realizes. “Because I…?”

“I- Yes.” Newt swallows. “It started - about one month after your return.”

-

_“Hello?”_

_“Mr. Scamander?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Seraphina Picquery speaking.”_

_Newt drops the bucket of meat he’s holding in one hand, his heart suddenly racing._

_“Is Percival…?” He asks immediately, throat tight._

_“He’s fine,” she says over the phone, and Newt feels relief wash over him until she continues. “He’s in the hospital. His last mission went - wrong.” Newt can hear the flinch in her voice._

_“I - how? It was supposed to be easy. He told me that.” He urges._

_“We underestimated our guy and Percival paid for it.”_

_“With all due respect, Madam, you are scaring the fucking hell out of me,” Newt says shakily, keeping his phone close to his ear while he runs to the entrance of the zoo, jacket in one hand. “What happened to him? Which hospital is he staying at?”_

_“I sent you the address by text,” she replies. “Room 301.”_

_“What happened to him?!”_

_There’s silence at the end of the line, then Seraphina says, “I think it’s best if he tells you himself, Mr. Scamander,” and hangs up._

_Newt is left to stare at his now useless phone, cold dread filling his heart at her last words before he shakes himself out of it and calls a taxi over. The ride is way too long, Newt’s fear rising as the minutes pass._

_When the taxi drops him at his destination Newt grabs blindly at money in his wallet, probably giving the driver far too much for his services, but it’s the least of his worries. He walks past faceless patients in blue nightgowns, men and women lying on stretchers and nurses and doctors, young and old people blurring in his mind. The thick, choking scent of sickness invades his nose and he runs faster. He slams his hand on the elevator button, frustrated when it doesn’t immediately reply to the urgency he feels._

_“301, 301, please be fucking okay, Percival, please -”_

_The elevator dings and Newt rushes inside. At least Percival isn’t in ICU, thank God for small mercies. First floor, second floor, third - Newt’s out in a heartbeat, turning his head left and right to find guidance and yes - there. Room 280 to 320._

_He runs again and a nurse reprimands him so he resorts to walking very fast until he reaches the right door and stops. Hesitating. Prepared for the worst._

_Steeling himself, Newt turns the doorknob and enters the room._

_Percival is dozing when he sees him, dark eyelashes fluttering, a stark contrast to the paleness of his cheeks. His face twists into an uncomfortable grimace every now and then, and Newt can only imagine what pain Graves is going through. His eyes catch on Graves’ throat and he makes a strangled sound of disbelief. “Oh my God.”_

_Graves whimpers, as if hearing him, and Newt quickly looks him over, trying to see if there are any more noticeable injuries on his body. No casts or splints - no broken or sprained limbs, that’s good._

_Just the ugly, red and purple mark around his neck the girth of a rope. Newt feels himself tear up, shocked, and doesn’t stop it, disbelieving fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Cautiously, he approaches Percival’s prone form on the bed, his footsteps echoing in the sterile silence of the room. His hand hovers above Graves’, Newt unsure of what to do - he wants Graves to be awake, he wants Graves to be able to talk to him, tell him where it hurts, tell him what’s wrong so Newt can fix it - but Graves is silent and asleep and Newt resorts to taking Graves’ hand in his, thumb rubbing soothing circles over his skin._

_The effect is immediate, but not what Newt hoped for._

_Instead of relaxing and sinking into the sheets, Graves’ eyes fly open and he jerks his hand away from Newt in a violent gesture, throwing Newt off. Graves scrambles away from him as far as the bed allows, eyes open but unseeing, and Newt’s heart breaks at seeing the man he loves in that state._

_“P-Percival,” Newt tries, lips trembling. “It’s me. It’s Newt. You- You’re safe. I’m here, I’m-”_

_Newt makes a move to step closer again and Graves recoils. “No, please!”_

_“Percival,” Newt says, at a loss. Graves is rocking in on himself, every muscle in his body taut, ready to snap. He lowers his voice, makes it softer, as if talking to a hurt animal. “Can I come over? Please?”_

_He raises both hands so Percival can see them, can see Newt means him no harm. Graves eyes him warily before a flicker of recognition passes in his eyes and he seems to realize it’s Newt he has in front of him, not someone else. His defenses drop._

_Newt watches, helpless, as Graves’ whole body quivers, a tremor wracking him from head to toe and he starts to sob, great, loud cries and Newt wants to come closer and cradle Graves against his chest and tell him everything will be okay but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed._

_When Percival starts hyperventilating Newt presses the button at his bedside to call the nurse and they come a few minutes later, shooing him out of the room and slamming the door in his face as they do what they need to do, accompanying Graves through his panic attack and calming him down._

_Newt stares at the white door with the numbers 301 edged on it and feels small, away from the agitation, away from Percival, as if Graves and him stood on either ends of a bridge and Newt could feel it slowly ebbing away._

_But he refuses to let that happen._

_He won’t._

_-_

“You never told me,” Newt cries. “Never. Not a word. I had to pick up your - your ghost at that hospital, and you wouldn’t even let me touch you. Not even - come near you. And I tried to help, Percival. Tried to talk. Tried to do something - anything. You replied with grunts and two worded sentences and I felt utterly helpless.”

“So what?” Graves says. “Suddenly you decided I wasn’t worth shit because I couldn’t pull myself together after what happened and you ran to cry in Credence’s arms?!”

“No!”

“Because it seems like it!”

“No! I just - we just - it was a mistake,” Newt says, raking a hand through his hair. “The first time. It had been one month since I picked you at the hospital and I - I was at the end of my rope. You turned everyone away. You turned _me_ away, and that fucking hurt. Even the psychologist -”

“I went to your psychologist. It was a disaster -”

“Then you should have tried another one! And another! And another! Until you found someone who worked for you, helped you pull yourself out of that - that - that hole of despair you had fallen in, someone who could bring you back home - back to me! I kept seeing you distance yourself from me, barely eating, barely sleeping - and I couldn’t do anything because you wouldn’t _let me_! Credence and I were drunk,” Newt says, looking away. “We were drunk and I was desperate for the slightest touch, the slightest bit of affection that you wouldn’t show me, you know how much I need it - and Credence kissed me.”

Graves laughs, although his heart is breaking in two. “And you didn’t think of me? You didn’t, once, stop and think - oh wait, cheating on my lover of three years is bad?”

“I thought of you _all the time_! All the time, Graves,” and _oh_ , the formality hurts. “I couldn’t even exist by myself anymore. Every breath I took, every damned day from when I woke up to when I went to bed I worried about you and it was crushing me. I was trying to save our relationship without any effort on your part and I was - I was tired. I needed to let go. Credence gave me that.”

“Stop mentioning his fucking name,” Graves seethes. “Not in my fucking house. Tired. I can’t fucking believe you. You were _tired._ ”

“I - “

“You were tired because you didn’t get hugs and bedtime kisses while I was dealing with trauma, Newton,” Graves growls. “While I _fought_ my way out of bed every day to try to look _normal_ when every shadow, every _man_ I saw reminded me of _him_ and yes, that includes you! But you know what?”

“Perciv-”

“I was getting fucking better!” Graves wipes his eye with the back of his hand furiously, refusing to let the tears fall. “I was never going to be fine, not after what happened, but I was getting closer to it and I hoped - I hoped that you’d see it too and that - a-after today - “ The tears roll down his cheeks without his permission and Graves draws in a few ragged breaths, trying to calm himself. “I was ready,” Graves says, voice breaking. “Ready to - to mend this. I don’t _want_ to lose you, Newt.”

Newt looks away, guilt crushing him.

“I was ready! Ready to touch you again. The last time you tried to hug me I punched you in the face as I woke up and I saw how much it hurt you. I _felt_ it too, Newt, damn it. I _missed_ you. But I couldn’t do it. Not yet. I couldn’t. I took paperwork duty for over two months because that meant I would be in my office and able to focus on something else than _his fucking hands on my skin_ and his -” Graves shudders and falls silent, his lips trembling. “Anything but _him_. And that last mission,” he finishes, looking at Newt, “It was a test. For me. I asked for it. I wanted to see if I could be on the field again. And I succeeded. And you know, I thought to myself - _when I get home, Newt’ll be so happy because I’ll kiss him like I used to. I managed to solve this case, a kiss is nothing. I can do this._ I was _healing_ , Newt. I needed time.” 

“I DIDN’T KNOW!”

Newt breaks, voice loud in the room, anger and hurt spilling from his own eyes. “I. DID. NOT. KNOW,” he stammers, getting up and punctuating each word with a jab of his finger to Graves’ chest. “I DON’T EVEN UNDERSTAND HALF OF WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT RIGHT NOW! You should have _told_ me! No one told me anything! I was your _lover_ , Percival! Did that mean nothing to you? Did you not trust me? The doctors refused to tell me what the hell was _wrong_ with you. I had to guess. No touching? Night terrors? Paranoid? This describes most traumas. The only thing I could see was the strangling, but I knew there was more - I just didn’t know what. And without that, I could not know how long - how long you were going to stay like this until you _got over it_. I didn’t -”

“Got over it?” Graves interrupts softly. Newt snaps his mouth shut, the feeling of knowing he went too far spreading through him as something splits inside of Graves and Newt cannot do anything to stop the train from crashing.

“I didn’t mean -”

“Oh, but you did.”

“I -”

“You want to know what it was like?” Graves asks, surprising himself with how calm his voice sounds. “Do you want to know what Gellert Grindelwald did to me, Newton?”

Newt opens his mouth and closes it. He doesn’t know what Graves wants to hear.

“I’ll tell you what he did. Sit down.”

Newt does so slowly, taking place on the bed, the mattress dipping below his weight. He faces Graves as he starts pacing in front of him, arms hugging his middle before he finally turns towards Newt.

“He hanged me,” Graves starts, voice barely above a whisper. “He tied me up in his basement and when I woke up he was there.”

_White hair, mismatched eyes and a crooked grin._

“He said hello as if this was all perfectly normal to him and maybe it was.”

_“Hello, Percival,” Grindelwald purrs, placing a hand over Graves’ naked knee. The contact makes Graves’ skin crawls and he tries to scramble away, his mind panicking - this wasn’t supposed to happen, he was meant to be safe - but Grindelwald tuts and digs his fingers into Graves’ skin, using the crushing grip to bring Graves that much closer to him. Graves tries to kick him in the face with his knees and Grindelwald avoids the attack easily, shaking his head as if Graves was a disobedient child. “Rude.”_

_“You know, you’re pretty,” Grindelwald muses, and Graves’ eyes widen. Minutely, he shakes his head before he can stop himself, muffled sounds of denial trying to form their way past the filthy gag in his mouth. Gods no. Please. Anything but that. “I’d love to play with you a bit longer, but I’m afraid our time is running out.”_

_Grindelwald’s hands leave him and there’s room for Graves to breathe again as he pulls himself up in a sitting position, trying to look less small and defeated than he feels._

_His heart positively stops when he sees what Grindelwald holds in his hands._

_“Which do you prefer?” Grindelwald asks him as if discussing the weather. “Burning or choking?” The criminal holds a lighter in one hand and a sturdy rope in the other, and if Graves looks past him he can see the cans of gas behind Grindelwald and sobs at the implication._

_Graves doesn’t want to die._

_“Sorry, what was that?”_

_Grindelwald takes off his gag and mockingly places a hand behind his ear, as if straining to hear what Graves has to say._

_“I don’t want to die,” Graves confesses. He wishes Grindelwald was close enough to bite him - to do something, anything to defend himself, but the other man got up as soon as Graves’ gag was off._

_“Repeat that?”_

_“I don’t - want to die.”_

_“Again.”_

_“I don’t want to die,” Graves cries._

_“Aaaaaw.” Grindelwald coos. “But I’m afraid you don’t really have a choice, sweetheart. Rope or flame?”_

_Graves’ heart sinks._

_“I think rope will look good on you,” Grindelwald says, cheerful. “Rope it is.”_

_“W-wait-”_

_“Told you,” Grindelwald says impatiently. “We don’t have time. Do you even listen?”_

_I might if I wasn’t currently facing my death, Graves thinks hysterically._

_Grindelwald is humming as he wraps the rope around Graves’ neck while Graves succumbs to the terror. Grindelwald ignores his pleas as he secures the knot at the base of Graves’ neck and then he says, “Look up, sweetheart.”_

_Graves, God help him, does, and sees a hook hanging from the ceiling, the kind of hook a butcher would use to hang a pig as he cuts him._

_“This is for you,” Grindelwald breathes in his ear. “I wonder how pretty you’ll look dangling from that, hum? Picture it,” he whispers. “Tears falling from your eyes, your hands clutching desperately at your throat, trying to relieve the pressure but it’s impossible; your tongue lolling out of your mouth, your eyes rolling back into their sockets, your legs kicking at nothing.”_

_Grindelwald is breathing hard against his neck, and Graves is paralyzed by the picture he paints. There’s a firm pressure at his backside and with a shocked whimper Graves realizes at once what it means  - Grindelwald is aroused._

_Aroused at the image of Graves’ death._

_“Oh yeah,” Grindelwald purrs. “It’ll be great.”_

_He pulls Graves upright and cuts off the zip-ties tying his hands and legs together. Graves sags against him, paralyzed, unable to speak, mind still trying to come to terms with his imminent death. “Come on, doll. It’s not that bad.”_

_Grindelwald brings the hook over to him, the slide of the chain grating their ears as he attaches the rope to it, securing its hold._

_“And-”_

_“Wait-”_

_“Here we -”_

_“NO!”_

_“Go!”_

_“STOP- ack!”_

_Graves chokes on his protests as Grindelwald tugs on the rope with all his strength - and he_ is _strong, able to lift a man like Graves up until his feet are barely scraping the floor, toes curling to find purchase. The victim feels like a butterfly, pinned and mounted on a card under Grindelwald’s appreciative gaze. The rope is digging into the skin of Graves’ throat, cutting off his airway, and his hands fly to it, but the rope is too tight for him to be able to slip a finger between it and the vulnerable skin of his neck. Horrible gurgling sounds fill the room, Grindelwald’s grin widening as Graves slowly dies; Graves’ cheeks are wet with tears, saliva dribbles down his chin, his mouth open and tongue out, just like Grindelwald described it. A painting. A sight to see._

_He looks up and with his hands tries to pull the rope off the hook, to save himself - but Grindelwald kicks him and Graves loses his balance, resorting to dangling once more like a fish at the end of a fishhook. He can only exist and take it. His whole body twists, trying to escape, and in a last desperate attempt at survival he tries to talk._

_“G-Gellert-” He gasps out. “G-Gellert - -- ave me - p-please - G--Grindelwald-”_

_“Oooh? What’s that?”_

_“P-please- please - Gellert -”_

_Grindelwald’s smile splits his face in two. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”_

_He releases the rope._

_Graves falls on his back on the floor, the shock chasing the air from his lungs as he tries to do the opposite, to take in big gulps of air to calm the racing of his heart. More tears fall, from relief this time; there’s drool all over his chin and it feels gross, drying up on the corners of his mouth, but he’s alive. He’s_ alive _._

_In his dazed state he hears the sound of a zipper being pulled down, and doesn’t comprehend it until he feels hands under his arms pulling him up and he opens his eyes and finds himself face to face with Grindelwald’s erect cock._

_“Oh God, no,” Graves whimpers, broken._

_“Ssssh.” Grindelwald croons. “This is your fault. Just open your mouth and take it. Unless you prefer the rope?”_

_Graves shakes his head vigorously, pleading as he looks up at his captor and Grindelwald languidly pushes his cock past Graves’ lips until it bumps against his teeth._

_“Open up.”_

_And Graves sobs and he cries and he does._

_-_

“Stop,” Newt says. “Please stop.”

“It wasn’t over,” Graves continues, ignoring him, voice rising as he speaks. “That would have required Grindelwald to be merciful.”

“He made me suck him off. Tugged at the rope with one hand to tilt my head back and pulled his cock deep down my throat until I couldn’t breathe. And he was loving _every second_ of it. Someone who doesn’t know him would think that enough to satisfy him.”

“No,” Newt says, crying. “No.”

“And when he had _my_ spit all over him, when it was slick enough for _him_ , he pulled off, flipped me over on my back and took me dry.”

Newt clasps both hands over his mouth, looking sick. “Oh God. Oh God.”

“He tore me open in half,” Graves murmurs. “The pain was indescribable, Newt. Indescribable. I wished for death. I welcomed it if it meant the pain would stop.”

“And he kept going until I couldn’t scream anymore, and when he was done he left me there.”

“And that’s how they found me,” Graves’ voice softens as he finishes. “My team. Lying boneless on the floor, a rope still wrapped around my neck, strangulation marks all over my skin, blood and semen dripping down my thighs.”

“So forgive me,” Graves says, “For not being fucking over it.”

Without another word, Graves walks out of the room, into the corridor, and storms outside, leaving behind a deafening silence.

-

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the support and no, I'm not sorry for breaking your hearts. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please let me know what you think <3
> 
> And listen to the song mentioned at the beginning ! Guilty by Rag'n'Bone Man is the whole reason this AU was even born. I listened to it, my brain went wild, and it remained an idea until I started shouting it at Alysae and she encouraged me to write it. So really, you should all blame the singer for your pain, not I.  
> 

* * *

 

Graves feels cold as he walks out of the apartment. All around him people swarm and cross paths, and Graves loses himself in the crowd taking the direction to the Tube. He barely knows where he’s going. He gets off after three stops, takes another line, goes away. He wants to escape. Step into the unknown. Go somewhere that isn’t Newt or anywhere close to it.

The betrayal hurts; a gaping, raw wound in his chest Graves does not have the means to heal. He cannot stitch his own heart back together. He cannot yank it away from his ribcage either and throw it on the ground so he can never feel again.

He sits in front of a blond woman. She’s typing on her phone, and Graves sees a heart emoji next to the name. He wonders if they’ll betray her too.

A child cries at the back, a dog barks, people sneeze and cough - it is the season - and it’s too much. Graves needs quiet. The world can keep on spinning without him for a little while.

He takes his earphones out of his coat, hits the random button on his playlist and loses himself in the music.

 _Guilty_ from Rag’N’Bone Man flows in his ears and Graves doesn’t realize he’s crying until the woman in front of him takes his hand in hers, the pink gloves she’s wearing a blur in his vision.

_Everything about you that was good is now erased_

_Only remnants of you is that awful bitter taste_

_I won't feel guilty for that…_

“You alright, honey?” She asks softly. Her face is impossibly gentle, blond curls bouncing around it and Graves feels his throat close up at the uncomplicated kindness. He wipes his tears with the back of his hand, more spilling over his skin as he does so and tries to pull himself back together. He’s making a scene.

“Fine,” he mumbles, expecting the stranger to leave it at that. Instead, she hands him a pink tissue that Graves accepts gratefully. It’s scented, cherry invading his nose as he blows it and wipes his eyes.

“Obviously you’re not,” she lowers her voice. Graves leans closer, imitating her posture as if they were two friends sharing a secret. He doesn’t know this woman. He has never met her. “Do you want to talk about it? We could grab a Starbucks. I don’t mind. Got nothing else to do.”

And by God, Graves wants to trust her. “Lonely soul?” he says with a short, self depreciating laugh.

“Isn’t everyone?” She replies. “Come on. My stop is next. I know just the place for ya.”

The train brakes, squealing, and both of them get up at the same time. Graves lets her pass in front of him as they go out into the open together, the chilly February air greeting them. The woman tucks her nose behind her pink scarf - everything she wears is pink, Graves realizes - and waves him over, pointing at the Starbucks across the avenue.

“Ever tried their hot chocolate?”

“No,” Graves admits. “I’m more of a coffee type of person.”

“Huum. Doesn’t surprise me, honey. You look like one too.”

Graves doesn’t protest the nickname. It feels good, and he gets the sentiment that this person calls everyone she meets like this, whether they are kids, ladies or grown up men like him.

“And you look like a vanilla milkshake kind of person,” he says, trying to retaliate. He holds out his hand and she shakes it, small in his palm. “Percival.”

“Queenie. Wait outside, I’ll go buy our drinks.”

Graves obeys her. He wishes he’d taken something a bit warmer than his leather jacket when leaving the apartment, but his mind wasn’t exactly set on the weather.

_\- how long were you going to stay like this until you got over it -_

“Fuck you,” he murmurs.

He wishes he had his cigarettes with him. He’d stopped thanks to Newt, but he feels like a drag could really help his case right now.

“I’m back!” Queenie emerges a few minutes later, two drinks in her hands. “I’m afraid they couldn’t quite get your name right, though.”

Graves takes his cup to see “Perceval” written on it, and smiles, just a little. “Could be worse.”

“God, I know. One time they wrote my name with a K. Can you imagine?”

“Is that not how it’s written?” Graves asks as Queenie guides him away. He sees the sign for a park in the distance and supposes that’s where she’s leading him.

“Christ, no. My name means ‘Queen’. No one gets to diminish me that way. What does yours mean?”

Graves remember a time when he was fifteen and his first girlfriend was obsessed with name meanings. “The one who pierces the valley.”

Queenie wrinkles her nose in a cute grimace. “And what does _that_ mean?”

“Absolutely no idea,” Graves says and Queenie grins at him, pleased to see he’s relaxing a bit. The warmth of the cup around his hands helps.

They reach the entrance of the park and step inside. The alley is large, extending further than Graves can see and the park is eerily empty. The weather doesn’t tempt people outside.

Queenie takes him to a bench in front of the lake and Graves sits down, shivering at the coldness of the metal beneath him. Queenie’s long coat protects her, but Graves suffers through it.

Queenie brings their cups together in a traditional toasting gesture and smiles at him. “To new beginnings.”

“To new beginnings,” Graves murmurs back before opening the lid of his cup and getting rid of it. “Why that wording?”

“I’m getting married soon,” Queenie says, her eyes warm with happiness as she looks at Percival. “With the most brilliant man.”

“Ah. Well. Congratulations.” Graves sips at his chocolate. It does warm him from the inside, but he’d feel better if Queenie didn’t throw her happiness in his face. Yet he can’t blame her. It is a big event. Of course she’d want to share it even with a grumpy stranger on the Tube.

“Thanks,” she says, her smile bright. “What about you, though? What’s got you in such a big mood?”

_Oh, you know. The love of my life just decided I was worth fucking nothing._

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry,” she says, and Graves realizes he said that out loud. He shakes his head.

“It’s f -”

“It’s not fine,” she says, eyes sad. “What happened?”

“I - I came home to -” Graves swallows, looks away, finishes his chocolate in three gulps. The drink burns his tongue, the insides of his mouth. He exhales. “I came home and found him in bed with another man.”

Queenie winces and sets her hand over Graves’ knee, trying to soothe him.

“I can’t even be mad at the other guy,” he says, and that’s the truth. “I even liked him. And I go away for two days and find them like this - in my own fucking bed, my own fucking house - fuck,” he wipes his eyes again. “Stop fucking crying, you pathetic fuck.”

“Don’t say that,” Queenie says, voice sharp. “It’s normal to feel betrayed and angry.”

“I trusted him,” Graves says, feeling impossibly small. “I trusted him and he - he - he dared to shatter me.”

“Oh, honey. No. Come here.”

Queenie sets her cup on the ground and opens her arms. She’s all Percy can see in the grey landscape around them and he hesitates before accepting the embrace, letting go.

He clutches her coat, sobs rising in his throat as he cries into her shoulder and Queenie shushes him, softly caressing his hair and holding him through it.

“It’s okay,” she says. “Sssh. It’s okay. It’s not the end. You’re a strong man. You will live and love again.”

“No,” Graves says, muffled. “Can’t.”

“Now that’s just a stupid thing to say, Percival,” she scolds him gently. “Don’t you feel a bit better already?”

Graves sniffs and pulls away from her before giving a little nod. He’s exhausted and wants to lie in bed and sleep for the next hundred years and not face life ever again, but he feels a little less empty than when he left the flat. His mind has quieted down.

“You should come see us at the bakery,” Queenie suggests, opening her handbag to slip a business card into his hand. _Kowalski’s Baked Goods_. “It’s my fiancé’s, but we take care of it together. He makes pastries.”

Graves coughs. “What kind of pastries?”

“Animals,” she says, her eyes sparkling. “You should see - he’s so creative.”

“You like him a lot.”

“I agreed to marry him,” she says. “You should talk to your boyfriend.”

Graves figuratively steps back. “I can’t,” he says. “Not right now. Not after that.” He gets up. “It’s late. I should leave you alone. Thank you for the - chocolate. And the company. And the hug.”

“Anytime,” she says, serious. “I mean it, Percival. You can come find us anytime. You deserve to be fine.”

“Life doesn’t seem to agree with you.”

“Then life can stuff it!” Queenie huffs and Graves can’t help it - he laughs weakly. This woman is something. He hopes her husband is worth her.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Queenie.” He holds out his hand for her to shake and she rolls her eyes and blows a kiss at him.

“Me too, Percival. Off you pop now. Be brave like your namesake.”

“I’ll try my best,” he says dryly before turning away.

He has an empty flat to go back to. He has no doubts that Newt has left, although he wishes he hadn’t.

But Newt’s never been good with humans and feelings, and what happened earlier - Graves knows Newt must have sought out comfort, a safe place, somewhere else. Maybe Theseus’. Or his parents. The zoo.

Credence’s.

Graves takes a deep breath and keeps on walking.

-

He gets home to the sound of silence and the lights turned off. Yet he calls, just in case.

“Newt?”

The door to their bedroom is closed, and Graves rests his forehead against it and tries again.

“Newt? It’s me. We need to talk.”

When he receives no reply he pushes the door open and turns on the light.

The bed is tightly made, Graves’ own slippers at the end of it, the two pillows securely tucked under the blankets. A pretense at ordinariness.

As Graves predicted, Newt’s glasses have disappeared from the bedside table. When Graves opens the cupboard he sees Newt also took underwear, a pair of trousers, a couple of shirts, socks and pajamas. His sketchbook is gone. His favorite book is an empty space in Graves’ library. His toothpaste and shampoo are absent from the bathroom.

Graves’ grief slams into him with a vengeance and he has to support himself on the wall to avoid crumbling in the middle of his apartment. He passes the rest of the evening barely seeing through the tears clouding his vision and the headache in his mind as he automatically prepares himself for bed.

The sheets smell soft and clean. Newt spared him the reminder of Credence in his own house, but in doing so he also took away Newt’s scent. It doesn’t cling to the bed anymore, and Graves cannot burrow his face in it like he did when Newt used to sleep at the zoo.

Graves gets up and pads softly to the cupboard, rummaging through Newt’s clothes until he pulls out a t-shirt with the image of a Hippogriff printed on it. It doesn’t smell clean - Newt must have worn it at least once. The scent is a mix of Newt’s soap, his cologne and something else that is irrevocably _Newt_ and that Graves used to adore. Graves considers bringing the shirt into bed with him for a moment before he puts it back in the drawer and goes back to bed.

Every time he has the chance for something good to happen in his life, the writer toying with him shifts things around until Graves finds himself in the dead of night, staring at the ceiling and wondering how his and Newt’s story could have ended up so wrongly.

-

_“Oh my God!” The stranger cries. “I am so, so sorry. Oh my God.”_

_Graves sighs, holding up a hand to shush the redhead. He’s rather cute. Graves would appreciate the view if his shirt and waistcoat hadn’t just been ruined by scalding hot coffee he dropped on himself because this bumbling man literally ran into him as he walked out of the police station._

_“It’s fine,” he says. “No harm done.” Then he smirks and adds, just to see the stranger’s reaction, “This suit is only worth a year of your salary.”_

_The stranger pales and Graves bites his lips. “But,” he adds, “I’m feeling rather generous today, so I’ll let you get away with that crime if you buy me another coffee.”_

_“Oh,” The man sounds relieved. “I can do that. Where did you buy this one?”_

_“Doesn’t matter. Take me where you want,” Graves says, placing a hand on the small of the stranger’s back to guide him. He’s being obvious, really; the coffee is already forgotten, having cooled down on his chest, and Graves is now concentrated on the man, who_ really _is cute. Graves will not let such an opportunity slip past his fingers._

_The stranger pauses and looks at Graves before his eyes widen in understanding. A flush spreads from the tip of his ears down to his neck and Graves curiously follows it with his eyes, wondering how far it spreads._

_“So, Mr…?”_

_“Scamander,” Newt says, voice surprisingly more assured. “Newt Scamander.”_

_Graves raises an eyebrow at the name but doesn’t comment on it. “Percival Graves. Detective. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”_

_-_

_At the end of this first unofficial date, Graves finds himself standing gobsmacked in the street, the predator becoming prey as Newt grabs his face between his hands - Graves realizing with a start that he’s the smaller one - and kisses his cheek before turning away, winking at Percival over his shoulder._

_Graves shakes himself out of his daze and makes a move to turn back before he hears rapid footsteps behind him. He turns quickly, a hand reflectively moving to the gun in his holster when Newt slams into him a second time, knocking the air from Graves’ lungs._

_Graves looks at him, bewildered, and Newt just blurts out, “I forgot to give you my number!”, and Graves stares at him - his flushed cheeks, messy hair and green eyes - and laughs until his jaw hurts._

_That’s also when Newt falls just a little bit in love with this handsome, slightly arrogant NYC detective whose suit is ruined because of him._

_-_

He wakes up feeling like he hasn’t slept at all and rubs his jaw. His whole body feels painful, but it’s when he turns around to greet Newt and finds an empty space where he used to be that he realizes it’s his heart which still aches the most.

Right. Yesterday wasn’t a dream. He really saw…

Feeling nauseous and on the verge of tears again, Graves gets up, hoping a shower might chase the images away. He pisses, takes off his pajama top and clicks his tongue as he stares at his reflection.

“You look like shit.”

_No wonder Newt left you._

The mirror doesn’t reply and Graves turns on the sink, splashing cold water onto his face and wiping it away roughly with a towel. He brushes his teeth and doesn’t shave, the motions too trying; he steps back into his room and changes into simple black slacks and a white shirt, and when that is done, he slumps on the sofa in front of the TV.

What should he do?

He grabs his phone and checks it, but it has nothing new to show him. There was a time when he received daily texts from Newt, but apart from him Graves doesn’t really have friends. Seraphina is his boss. He’s highly respected at the station, so people are kind of afraid to approach him. He lost sight of his high school friend Tina years ago. Theseus is in England, working for the government; his parents are out of the country and don’t really care about him anyway; and Queenie…

He pauses. He could go to the bakery. Take her up on the offer.

He’d do that later.

Graves turns on ABC, doesn’t eat, and tries not to think about it.

At nine am he calls Seraphina and tells him he is taking a day off, and when she asks if he’s alright he says it’s fine, just a cold and yes, he’ll take care of himself. She doesn’t believe him - _when has Percival Graves ever called in sick for something as mundane as a cold?_ \- but she can sense something is wrong and doesn’t press.

The day passes in a blur. Graves’ stomach makes itself known around two and Graves tiredly gets up and goes into the kitchen, opening the cupboards randomly, looking for something edible.

He finds oranges, Newt’s cereal and bread, and grabs one of the fruits.

He slumps down on the sofa again. He should do something. Go outside. The sun is shining. Normal people go outside. People who haven’t been tortured by a madman and then betrayed by their significant other. Why can’t that be him?

His eyes sting again and he viciously bites into the orange before spitting the skin out and continuing to peel it with his fingers, juice dripping down his forearms.

Sooner or later he will go out.

Sooner or later he will have to see Newt.

Later.

-

After three days of this same numbness - he called in sick again on Monday, giving himself more time, not quite ready to face the world again - intertwined with crying, sleeping a lot and generally wallowing in his own misery, Graves pulls on a sweater, his favorite blue scarf and uses the GPS on his phone to find his way towards Kowalski’s bakery.

The trip exhausts him but by the end of it he finds a quaint little shop, settled in a busy area of New York. Judging by the queue outside, it must be rather delicious. Graves steps in line behind a round, plump little man and peers inside through the window. He immediately recognizes Queenie’s lithe form, making her way between the tables on the left, a tray full of pastries in her hands. He cannot imagine the awkward, gangly teenager with spots on his face helping at the counter is anything else that a temporary help, which means the third person - a man with a moustache and a warm smile - has to be Mr. Kowalski. He doesn’t look like what Graves imagined, but he seems nice and cheerful enough, and Graves can see, maybe, why she’d fall for him.

When his turn comes he has no idea what to order. Mr. Kowalski is otherwise occupied with an old lady, which leaves Graves face to face with the teenager who drawls out a monotonous, “Hello, Sir. What will you have?”

Graves makes a face and says, “Whatever the chef suggests,” because that’s what they do in movies. The teenager blinks owlishly at him, shrugs and leaves to wrap two weirdly shaped pastries in paper before handing them over to Graves. Graves gives him 20 bucks and takes back his change with a nod and a tight lipped, “Thanks”. The teenager welcomes the next customer, and Graves looks around him, trying to find a free table.

Luckily, Queenie notices him, and her face immediately brightens. “Percival! You came!”

“I - Yes.”

“Well? Don’t just stand there! Come on, I’ll find you a quiet seat - here,” she says, waving to a table. “You chose your timing badly, it’s kinda rush hour here. But don’t fret. I’ll be back to you in no time! How are you feeling?”

Graves replies, a little overwhelmed by the flow and speed of her words and the sheer amount of energy she displays. “Okay?”

“Of course not,” she says, sympathetic. “That was a stupid question, I’m sorry. Anyway. You enjoy your Nifflers, I’ll be right back - oh, Credence!”

Graves chokes on the pastry.

The sound draws Credence’s attention while Queenie slaps his back and Graves’ eyes water as he slowly regains his breath. It’s him, there’s no doubt -  long black hair, red coat and a smile frozen in place as he sees Graves at the table.

Fuck. There’s no protocol for _that_. What does Graves do?

Flee, he decides. Flee far away from here. Maybe that’s what he should do. Go on vacation in Australia. Or maybe France. Or Africa.

He gets up, the chair rattling behind him and quickly crushes the remaining, whole pastry inside his large coat pocket. “Ah, Credence!” A beaming voice says behind the young man. “You’re here! Got any new designs for me?”

“Ah.” Credence tears his eyes away from Graves and by God, Graves needs to leave _now_ lest he does something irreparable, like start to cry or punch Credence in the face _._ “Hum - Yes, Mr. Kowalski. Give me a second - “

Credence starts rummaging through his bag, and Queenie turns to Graves with a proud smile. “Credence is an art student. He was sketching in a park when Jacob saw him and he liked his monsters so much he decided to hire Credence part time to design new pastries for the bakery. Jacob then works his magic in the kitchen, and tada!” She points to Graves’ half eaten pastry on the table with a grin. “A Niffler! I’m the one who comes up with the names.”

“Lovely,” Graves says with difficulty. He feels on the verge of choking. He feels as if Credence is mocking him simply by being here and interacting normally with his employer, pretending nothing is wrong while it’s all Graves can do not to run to the door. He feels Queenie’s laughter in his ears, Jacob’s booming voice, the sound of the shop bustling and growing louder and threatening him. The edges of his vision darken and he hears Credence’s call of “Mr. Graves? Are you alright?” before his feet move on their own and he finds himself running towards the exit, needing out out _out_.

He keeps running even as the fresh air hits his face until he finds a concealed alleyway and slumps down, his back to the wall, short little gasps and painful wheezes escaping his throat. His hand covers his side where he has a stitch and he takes a few deep breaths.

He opens his eyes and fuck, he just wasted every chance he had of becoming friends with the Kowalski couple. They probably think him mad now.

Graves sits on the ground and hugs his knees, staring at the dirty stone wall in front of him and just wants it all to _stop_.

After an undetermined amount of time he gets up again, freezing, and walks back to his flat.

-

_“Mr. Graves? Are you alright?”_

_At Credence’s question Queenie turns towards the man and her eyes widen. Graves is pale, sweating, and he seems to have trouble breathing, his eyes fixated somewhere above Credence’s shoulder. Queenie makes a move to touch him but before she does Graves bolts._

_There’s no other word for it. He runs, seemingly uncaring that he’s in a shop full of people, ignoring their scandalized cries as he bumps into them on his mad dash to get out. An old lady is forced to flatten herself against the door as he runs past her and out in the open, and they can see him looking left and right before deciding on a direction and taking off running again until he disappears from their sight._

_“What the hell?” Jacob murmurs._

_-_

_Later, when the shop is closed and all three of them gather around a table to admire Credence’s new sketches, the boy confesses._

_“It was my fault.”_

_“Hum?” Queenie says distractedly as she holds one drawing to the light. It looks a bit like a monkey, with long strands of fur and big eyes and she shows it to Jacob. Her fiance nods, approving, and Queenie sets the drawing aside on the pile of ‘things to try out’ before picking up another. “What’s that, honey?”_

_“Mr. Graves. He ran away because of me.”_

_“Now why would he do that?” Jacob murmurs, deep in thought. “You’re not exactly the picture of a monster, Credence.”_

_“I might be for him,” Credence says. “I did encourage his lover of three years to cheat on him with me.”_

_That, at least, draws their attention._

_“You did what?!” Jacob asks, at the same time as Queenie says, “Oh my God! It was you?!”_

_“What? What do you mean it was me?”_

_“I met him last week! Poor man sits in front of me on the metro, earphones on and then his lips started trembling, his eyes filling and then he just - burst into tears. In front of everyone.”_

_“Oh,” Credence says._

_“Yes, oh,” Queenie says fiercely, torn between how protective she feels of both Credence and Mr. Graves. “He was devastated.”_

_Credence looks away._

_“Do you even feel guilty?”_

_“I’m in love with Newt,” Credence replies quietly. “And Newt is in love with me. We will be fine. And so will Mr. Graves.”_

_“That’s.... Not how feelings work, Credence,” Mr. Kowalski says slowly. “A man does not simply get over such a betrayal. How does he know in the first place?”_

_“He surprised them,” Queenies replies in Credence’s stead._

_“Well, pardon my English, but that’s even more fucked up.”_

_“I agree.”_

_“I don’t know what to do,” Credence says. “Newt lives at my house now, but he’s not - he’s not there. He keeps thinking about Percival. He needs to see him. But I don’t want to lose him.”_

_“Graves needs to see him too, Credence,” Queenie says softly. “Encourage him. Tell him he has to. If only so they can have a calm conversation, because I imagine the last one did not go so well.” Credence shakes his head. “They have to.”_

_“I honestly think Mr. Graves will have a hard time wanting to be with Newt again after that. He needs to sort out his feelings, but - if he knows what’s good for him, he won’t try to - take Newt back. So your relationship is safe. But Newt and him cannot stay like this. It’ll eat at them.”_

_Credence nods._

_“Well. On another note, your drawings are as good as ever, Credence.”_

_-_

_The doorbell rings and Credence rushes to open it. Newt warned him by text that he was coming, and Credence has been biting the skin of his fingers until they bleed, driven mad with worry ever since he had to leave Newt behind with Percival. He opens the door and immediately pulls Newt in, words failing him as he takes in Newt’s appearance. He looks wrecked, tear tracks down his cheeks, his nose red from repeatedly blowing it and his eyes puffy from crying._

_Credence hears Modesty, his cat, meow at his feet for food and he ignores her. He takes Newt’s backpack from him and listens to his boyfriend._

_“I fucked up,” Newt says. “Fuck, Credence, I fucked up big time. We fucked up.”_

_Credence freezes, the dreaded words he knew had to be coming one day ringing in his ears. “What?”_

_“Percival told me,” Newt says, waltzing into the little studio as if it was his own and bringing a hand to his feverish forehead. “He told me - everything.”_

_“And?”_

_“And…” Horrified, Credence sees new tears fall from Newt’s eyes, “And I’m a fucking piece of shit - fuck - how could I - UGH!”_

_Newt slams his fist against the wall. “Give me a pillow!”_

_“What?”_

_“Give me a pillow!” Newt yells. “Now, Credence!”_

_Credence quickly grabs one on his bed and throws it over to Newt. Newt catches it in midair and slams his face in it, screaming at the top of his lungs into the softness of the material._

_When he’s done he raises his head, face wet with tears and Credence says, ”Tea,” because he doesn’t know what else to do and puts the kettle on._

_“He raped him,” Newt gasps from where he’s curled up on the floor, clutching the pillow in his hands. “The criminal - he raped him. He raped P-P-Percival. Hanged and raped him, and that’s why he couldn’t touch me for months or even come near me and that’s why he was jumpy and was demoted and had night terrors and that’s why - “ Newt muffles another scream into the pillow and Credence brings the tea over to the table. “Fuuuuuuck. And during that time I - with you - how could I?” Newt swallows. “Fuck!”_

_Credence gently pries Newt’s face away from the pillow. Newt looks lost in the throes of self-hatred and Credence cradles his face between his hands, kissing his forehead, then his wet lids._

_“We did it because you wanted to, Newt,” he says, certain._

_“Credence, please -”_

_“You love me and he couldn’t give you what you wanted.”_

_“I should have seen,” Newt sobs. “I should have realized - I was fucking blind, fucking blind, I’m a piece of shit -”_

_“Ssssh.” Credence says, bringing the tea to Newt’s lips. Newt takes a few sips and Credence places the steaming mug back on the table. He rocks Newt gently, like his Ma did for him and Newt progressively calms down, his breathing regular and deep as his eyelids droop and he starts to snore._

_Credence might have dosed him a bit too much._

_“He needed it,” he tells himself as he lifts Newt up like a princess and takes him to the bedroom. He drops Newt on the bed delicately, like Newt is something precious, and covers him with a blanket before kissing Newt on the lips._

_Tomorrow, when he’s calmed down, they’ll figure out what to do._

_For now Newt needs rest._

_His Newt._

_-_

Someone is ringing the doorbell.

Graves quickly steps out from the shower, smoothing his wet hair back and grabbing a bathrobe, slipping it on.

His heart threatens to give out the closer he gets to the door, his hand shaking when he raises it towards the doorknob, because there’s only one person who would come see him at his place at this hour.

He opens the door and Newt stares back at him.

For a while there’s only silence; Newt’s eyes travel down his body as they take in his appearance and Graves mumbles something about making himself decent until both of them blurt out “I’m sorry” at the same time.

Graves lets him in.

“You want some tea?”

Newt shakes his head minutely, then says, “Do you have anything stronger than that?”

“No,” Graves says. “I was too afraid I’d drink myself to oblivion if I did.”

Newt doesn’t comment on that and walks into the apartment. It’s achingly familiar, the way he divests himself of his coat, the way he steps into the kitchen to put the kettle on, the way he turns to look back at Graves over his shoulder.

“Come here?” He says and Graves follows.

Newt sits at the table, Graves in front of him. It almost looks like an interrogation, Newt - or him - only needing the handcuffs to make it more real.

The kettle whistles and Newt jumps, hastily making himself and Graves a cup of tea, looking for his favorite in the cupboards.

“Where is the Rooibos tea?”

“You took it with you,” Graves reminds him.

“Oh.” Newt’s ears flush. “Right.”

“Newt. Sit down.”

Newt obeys. He clenches his fists, repeating the motion, mouth pinched in a thin line, looking somewhere on the side and Graves sighs, deciding to go for brutal and honest. “I am mad at you.”

Newt shrinks on himself, but Graves continues. “So mad at you that I can’t quite make sense of the whirlwind in my head. A part of me would like to take revenge on Credence -” Newt snaps his head up at that and it hurts like hell, “A part of me wants to hurt you as much as you did me, and the last part of me wishes I could forgive and put all of that behind us, go back to the way we were before. But the truth is - I don’t know if I can ever forgive you.”

“I was going crazy,” Newt says softly. “I thought you were done with me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I should have talked to you, told you sooner, but given what you now know happened - can you blame me?”

Silence falls again. Words like ‘sorry’ feel utterly meaningless in the face of everything they have to say, everything they wish they could have said, yet it’s the best the English language can give them.

“I never expected you to forgive me,” Newt says. “What I did was _wrong_ , but it cannot be undone and now I regret it so fucking much, Jesus, Percival, you have no idea - “

“Do you really?” Graves asks. “Newt. I’d believe you if what happened was a one time thing. But that’s not the case. Don’t patronize me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Newt whispers, eyes wide staring at the table. “Credence just - “

“But you did. You didn’t mean to drink and you did. You didn’t mean to respond to the kiss and you did. You didn’t mean to hurt me, yet you did. You _cheated_ on me. Not once, not twice, but multiple times. Sometimes in my own house. Each ‘last time’ became a pastime, and you may have been drunk the first time but you weren’t all the others. You wanted it. Look me in the eyes and tell me anything I said is wrong.”

Newt squeezes his eyes shut.

“Newt, please.”

“I’m sorry,” Newt says, hollow. Yes, Newt wanted it. Yes, he cheated on Graves. Yes, he hates himself. Yes yes _yes_.

The clock ticks. A dog barks outside, his neighbor upstairs is vacuuming the floor and two men see the relationship they took years constructing ebb away before their very eyes.

The table is the bridge, Newt’s admission the fissures in the wood and Graves simply doesn’t have the strength to try and put the pieces back together anymore.

“Do you love him?”

“Percival - “ Newt pleads. “Please don’t.”

“Do. You. Love. Him?” Graves repeats, biting his tongue until it’s painful. He tastes blood in his mouth, and his tea has grown cold in his hands.

“I - I - I -”

“Newt!” Graves snaps. “It’s a simple yes or no question!”

“Yes!” Newt sobs. “But I love you too!”

“No,” Graves laughs, “Oh no. You don’t. If you did you wouldn’t have done this to _me_!” And _fuck,_ Graves hates himself for the way his voice is trembling. “That’s not love, Newt Scamander! That’s pure, raw, _ugly_ selfishness!”

“No -”

“Isn’t it? Isn’t it?” Graves gets up from the table, slamming his hands on the surface. “You saw I wasn’t the Percival you wanted me to be anymore and you turned away because your favorite toy wasn’t working! You know how it feels? When someone who promises to love you, to never leave you, turns away when times get tough? I’m alone in a room with the curtains drawn, and you enter the room, take one look around and instead of opening the fucking curtains and letting the light in you walk away and slam the fucking door shut! That’s how it feels!”

“I’m s-s-sorry,” Newt says, hands over his face, gripping his hair, uncontrollable. “I t-tried-”

“You didn’t try hard enough,” Graves says, breathing heavily. After a beat, he adds, “And neither did I.”

“I don’t want it to end like this,” Newt says, helplessly.

“And you think I do?” Graves says. “I was ready to kiss you again, Newt, remember? When I came through that door on Thursday night. But you… _You_ were not there.” Graves takes a deep breath, throwing his head back and looking at the ceiling.

He wishes he could make this right. He wishes there was a magic spell, something, an abracadabra that would bring him back to a day where their relationship was the most beautiful thing to happen to Graves and everything was fine. He wishes he could forget the past week and start anew.

He wishes he came home and found Newt drawing on the bed with his legs crossed and his tongue sticking out in concentration. He wishes he kissed him on the lips and smiled at him, victorious; wishes Newt had cried tears of joy and hugged him, and Graves told him everything about the case at dinner. He wishes that they went to sleep together and for the first time in months Graves wrapped his arms around Newt and never let him drift away again.

But that’s a dream, that’s another life, and it’s not happening here and now and Graves needs to accept that.

Newt seems to have come to the same conclusion because he wipes his eyes one last time and says in a shocked whisper, “This is it.”

Graves turns away from him. His back is broad and strong, a solid weight to rely on and everything Newt couldn't manage to be in the past couple of months.  

“Pick up the rest of your things,” Graves’ says flatly. “We’ll talk again later.”

Newt gets up on shaky legs, bumps into the chair as he leaves and retreats to the bedroom. He grabs his sports bag under the bed, opens the drawers and starts throwing most of his clothes inside, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand every now and then. Graves watches him from the doorway, arms crossed, as Newt dumps three years of life together in a dirtied bag.

“Y-You can throw the cereal away,” Newt says. “I know you never liked them.”

“I liked you, Newt,” Graves replies quietly, and Newt stills. “I love you. Even despite what happened. But I need to protect myself.”

“I know,” Newt says, blinking fast. “God, I know. I’m so -”

“If you say you’re sorry one more time I’ll slap tape over your mouth,” Graves says, a poor attempt at humor. It makes Newt give a shaky, little laugh as he finishes gathering his things.

“Newt?” Graves calls as Newt starts putting on his coat. He’ll come back later for what’s missing, he tells Graves. He has what he needs.

“Yes?”

“Where are you staying?”

“Ah - with - Credence.”

Graves nods, once. He expected that.

“Newt?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Did you ever love me too?”

“I have,” Newt hears himself say, distant. “I have loved you.”

The door slams shut with a final, resounding click, and Graves is left alone in the emptiness of his apartment.

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! 
> 
> This chapter is shorter than the others and oh wow, look at that. It ends positively for once. Why is it shorter ? Because it was the best place to cut before what's coming up next. Brace yourselves :] 
> 
> I want to thank every single one of you who commented, seriously, I can't even put into words how much I apreciate reading your thoughts about this. Each comment makes me live longer and makes me enjoy writing even more <3 (and a special thanks for Qued221b for her huge comments - thank you ily you're awesome <33) 
> 
> Onward !

* * *

 

The next day sees Graves returning back to work.

His department welcomes him with smiles and multiple hands he has to shake and Graves throws himself into the whirlwind of it, letting it consume him. Seraphina summons him to her office and asks if he’s feeling better, as if she cannot see the circles under his eyes and his unshaven jaw, but he indulges her and replies, clipping out a, “Yes, fine,” and then, “Got anything new for me?”

She does. He receives new files, a new case, something more difficult than his last one and Graves greets the difficulty with open arms. He stays late at work - it’s midnight when he finally leaves his office - walks all the way home and collapses onto his bed, not taking the time to change or eat.

The next morning his alarm clock rings and Graves lets it, turning away from it, hoping it will stop. But the sound keeps getting louder and eventually Graves gets up, takes a scalding shower that leaves his skin red, nibbles on some toast and leaves.

The next days pass in a blur. He solves the case, takes on another. They still don’t have any relation to Grindelwald, or maybe they do and Graves just doesn’t want to see it. Seraphina summons him to her office at lunch everyday and forces him to eat something after she nearly saw him collapse in a meeting. But sometimes she’s not there, and Graves just forgets - or he doesn’t have the strength to move.

He shaves, nicks his skin and doesn’t bother with disinfection or a band-aid. His phone is empty of texts, his flat uninhabited. Queenie calls him and he lets the phone ring until she gives up. She doesn’t leave a voicemail, and Graves doesn’t call her back.

Graves knows what’s happening. He thinks, vaguely, that he should call a psychologist lest it swallows him whole. But when his hands hover over the digits Graves always finds an excuse to stall the phone call. He should think about the case. He should clean the table. He should, maybe, call Queenie back instead.

-

_“Mr. Graves?” The doctor calls him and Percival immediately jumps to his feet. “Please. This way. Come in.”_

_Percival follows his arm to the end of the corridor and enters the room. It is small enough to feel cozy and large enough to not be stifling. Graves lets his eyes drift over the walls: there’s a gorgeous picture of a beach in front of what he assumes is his seat, green plants in the corner, papers on the table next to the two armchairs and the doctor’s desk is behind him, next to the door._

_“Please sit,” the psychologist says, trying to make Graves comfortable. “Do you need anything? Tea, coffee, chocolate?”_

_Graves shakes his head before remembering he has a tongue. “No, thanks.”_

_“That’s fine,” Mr. Roberts says. “Come on. Sit down.”_

_Mr. Roberts is a tall, balding man in a wrinkled suit and a smile too warm to be real. Graves doesn’t know what he expected when he Googled ‘psychologist New York’ in his area. Hesitantly, he sits down and crosses his legs._

_“Now,” Mr. Roberts says, taking place in front of him. He holds a notebook in his hands and takes a pen out of his vest pocket, placing the tip on the paper and looking back at Graves. “What brings you here?”_

_Graves opens his mouth. “I - I was -”_

_“Let’s start slow,” Mr. Roberts interrupts. “What do you do for a living?”_

_“Uh,” Graves says, startled. “I’m a detective.”_

_“A detective? Now that’s unusual,” Mr. Robert says, smiling as if Graves was an amusing kid. “What does that entail? Is it the same as the stories my children read?”_

_“Pretty much,” Graves acquiesces. “I catch the bad guys.”_

_“And I’m assuming one of them managed to catch you?”_

Hands over him, pulling him closer to better tear him apart; a tongue, all over his face, licking his tears before he says, “I enjoyed myself, Mr. Graves. I hope we can see each other again soon,” and Grindelwald leaves the basement with a laugh.

_“Yes.”_

_“Okay.” Mr. Roberts writes something down and asks, “Was it a man or a woman?” Graves shakes his head negatively. “A man, then.” Graves hears the scribble of the pen. “What was the mission?”_

_“I was just meant to observe him,” Graves says, shuddering. “He wasn’t even one of the primary suspects in our case, but I thought his attitude seemed off.”_

_“You noticed him. That means you’re a good detective.”_

_“I don’t feel like one.”_

_“Then perhaps you’re not a good detective. Did he capture you?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Did you let him?”_

_“I beg your pardon?”_

_“That’s what happened, right? You let your guard down and got caught. Maybe you don’t deserve to be a detective. What did he do?”_

_Graves’ blood is rushing to his head. “How dare you -”_

_“What did he do, Mr. Graves? Once he caught you?”_

_“He - he - ”_

_“Yes?”_

_Graves wraps his fingers around his throat. “He hanged -”_

_“He hanged you?” Graves nods. Mr. Roberts frantically jots down a few words before snapping his head back. “And? That’s not all there is to the story, is there?”_

_“I - no.”_

_“Then tell me. That’s what I’m here for. You can’t live in the past. I’m here to help you move on.”_

_Graves feels like a circus freak. Here, in this room, for Mr. Robert’s entertainment, and it’s exactly as he feared. That’s a bad sign, right? He’s supposed to be comfortable with the person he will let into his mind, allowing them to pull it open, each memory a petal you gently pry away to get to the heart of the matter. He feels like Mr. Roberts is forcing him to tear the petals one by one instead._

_“No.” Graves gets up. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” He makes his way to the door and opens it, ignoring Mr. Robert’s call of, “Wait, Mr. Graves, you were doing fine -”, steps outside, salutes the secretary and leaves the place completely._

_-_

In the end he does nothing, and time passes.

When the weekend comes Graves decides to clean his apartment. He takes a suitcase and carefully puts whatever belongs to Newt in there. Clothes, a book, drawings and notes Graves finds, scattered across the rooms. Sometimes they’re drawings of him, and Graves doesn’t bother with trying to stop the tears. He doesn’t read Newt’s notes, just places them in the case and keeps going.

He throws Newt’s cereal away. He clears the bathroom. Newt gets his shaving cream, his razors and his deodorant back. He keeps his own, simple, bland band-aids and gives Newt the silly animal themed ones he bought for Graves.

He hates the flashes of memories that flow through his mind and break his heart just a little further, just a little more each time his eyes fall on something that was Newt’s, but he is helpless to stop it.

When he’s done vacuuming, dusting every surface, when the case is at the door waiting for him, when he pulls himself up and wipes his sweaty brow with his forearm - he realizes his apartment has never been so clean.

The corners of his lips turn up. There’s no abandoned mug of tea on the table, no disrupted magazines filled with sketches in front of the TV, no wet towel in the sink of his bathroom. There’s no one living with him. Graves is free.

So why does he want to cry?

_There’s no one living with him._

_He was supposed to build a life with Newt, damn it!_

Graves wipes his sweat and tears with the hem of his t-shirt, takes a shower and changes his clothes, grabs the suitcase in one hand and leaves the flat.

He knows where Credence lives and goes there. He parks his car outside, takes the case and climbs the stairs up to Credence’s little studio. Credence lives on the fifth floor with no elevator and Graves is out of breath by the time he arrives.

He hears laughter inside and hesitates. Credence makes the decision for him, the door opening suddenly, letting him appear. He has his coat on, seemingly ready to leave - probably to the bakery - and Newt stands behind him, gazing at Credence with a smile he used to direct at Graves.

_Please. Stop._

His face doesn’t betray his thoughts. He ignores Credence and looks at Newt, bringing the suitcase up in front of him so Newt can see it. “I cleaned the flat.”

“Oh,” Newt says, voice small, smile gone as quickly as the snow melts.

“Yeah.” Graves sets the case on the floor. “Everything of yours should be in there. If I forgot anything, I’ll let you know by text. You -” Ignoring Credence’s glare is becoming more and more difficult, and Graves clears his throat - “You take care of yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” Newt whispers. “You too, Percival.”

“Okay,” Graves echoes. “That’s - all I came here to say.” He turns around, slightly robotic and starts making his way downstairs when Credence catches up with him.

“Mr. Graves, wait.”

“Credence?”

The kid joins him with a light skip in his step that leaves a sour aftertaste in Graves’ mouth. “You should reply to Queenie, you know. She worries about you.”

“I should,” Graves says.

They're almost halfway down when Credence stops walking. Graves turns back to look at him - Credence stands higher than him, looking down at Graves, and he says softly, “Mr. Graves.”

Graves pretends the unusual coldness in Credence’s eyes doesn’t send a shiver down his spine - there’s something dormant behind that gaze, something ready to lash out, and Graves doesn’t want to know what it is - and says, “Yes?”

“Newt is mine.”

Graves raises a single eyebrow. “Possessive much?” He asks, although the choice of words makes dread settle low in his gut.

Credence steps down, closer to Graves. “You should leave.”

“I am leaving.”

“No, I mean… You should _leave_ ,” Credence says, something dark and hungry in his eyes. That look, Graves knows. He automatically steps back, almost losing his balance on the stairs. His hand tries to reach for his gun, but he forgot it at his flat. “Mr. Graves - ”

“Credence - ”

Credence comes closer until his hands are on Graves’ chest, and Graves grabs his wrists. Credence looks too much like Grindelwald, and it makes bile rise in Graves’ throat.

_Newt._

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Helping you leave,” Credence says, and then, without warning, he pushes hard. Graves opens his mouth in shock, tries to catch himself on Credence’s arms, but Credence shakes him off, and then Graves is falling.

Falling.

The last thing he sees is Credence’s triumphant smirk.

-

_“911, what is your emergency?”_

_Credence takes on a fake, trembling voice, almost as if he was on the verge of tears._

_“Hello, yes? I was leaving my apartment and found a man down the stairs - I think he fell - he’s not moving, he’s lying on his back but he’s still breathing -” Graves groans on the floor, and Credence looks disdainfully at him. “- What should I do?”_

_“Have you tried talking to him?”_

_“Yeah. He’s not replying.”_

_“Where are you staying?”_

_Credence gives the address, and the medic tells him to keep talking to Graves and whatever he does, to_ not _move him._

_Credence kicks Graves in the ribs and leaves the building._

_-_

Graves wakes up in a sterile, white room, the ceiling blinding him. He grunts - he hates hospitals, damn it, why does he keep finding himself in one - and tries to think past the pounding in his head, slowly moving every inch of him to see what’s functioning. Right hand, check. Right leg, check. He hurts everywhere. There’s a weight on his chest. Left hand -

“Fuck,” He gasps out as his entire arm throbs. He opens his eyes to see a cast over it and groans. Broken, then.

Left leg, check. He tries to raise himself up and collapses back on the bed, nerve endings sending signals at him from all over his body. Graves lifts the hem of his shirt to see a massive purpling bruise spreading over his hips and stomach. He takes off the blanket, wiggles his toes and inspects his legs critically. Sure enough, he has bruises there too : thighs and knees. Arms too, probably. Graves scowls.

And Newt. Oh my God. Newt. There is no way Graves is leaving him with Credence, but Newt won’t believe him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Graves curses, at the end of his rope. “Damn it!” He slams the button at his bedside to call a nurse, at the very least to see the extent of the damage done to him and know when he can leave this godforsaken place.

-

It’s noon when Queenie’s phone rings and she immediately picks up when she sees it’s Graves.

“Percival!”

“Quieter, please,” he begs, and Queenie apologizes.

“You haven’t been replying to my calls!”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just - Credence was too much. He is -”

“I know,” Queenie says. “He told us. I still can’t believe it.”

“Ah. Well. Now you know. But that’s not why I’m calling, although I _am_ sorry for leaving the bakery in a rush like I did. No, I’m at the hospital.”

Queenie’s hand flies to her mouth. “You’re _where_ ? Percival Graves, what stupid thing did you _do_?!”

There’s silence, and then Percival says, his voice grim, “I’m in the fucking hospital because Credence Barebone pushed me down three flights of stairs, Queenie.”

“You’re joking,” Queenie says immediately.

“I wish I was. But I’m not. I know you probably don’t believe me, but I want you to think about it and please -” Graves continues, his voice urgent, “Please look after Newt if you can. Because he won’t believe me either. And I won’t be able to leave the hospital for a couple of days or do anything - ”

“Percival, we’ve worked with Credence for at least a year,” Queenie argues, in denial. “He’s always been a nice kid. Why you would accuse him of such a thing is -”

“He pushed me down the fucking stairs, Queenie,” Graves growls. “I’ve got the fucking bruises to prove it. What do you know about him, apart from the fact that he draws well?”

“...Not much,” Queenie admits quietly.

“There is a wolf lurking beneath that angelic face and I’ll drag it out,” Graves says sharply. “But Newt is living with him and I may be mad at him, and hurt, but I am also scared. For him.”

“Percival, I -”

“Please,” he says. “It’s not much. Just send Newt a text at least once a day to ask if he’s fine. I’m not even sure he knows I’m in the hospital yet. I plan to call him right after.”

“Okay,” Queenie agrees softly. “I’ll do that.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I - “ Queenie stops.

-

_“Do you even feel guilty?”_

_“I’m in love with Newt,” Credence replies. “And Newt is in love with me. We will be fine. And so will Mr. Graves.”_

_-_

“...Maybe,” she murmurs. Graves inhales sharply.

“Thank you, Queenie.”

“Take care of yourself, Percival.”

She hangs up and Graves relaxes on the bed.

-

_Graves is wheezing on the floor, like a beetle on its back unable to pull itself upright and the pain doubles as Credence repeatedly kicks Graves’ stomach, stealing the air from his lungs. Graves makes a pained sound and tries to scramble away but it hurts so fucking much and he knows he shouldn’t be moving at all -_

_Credence steps on Graves’ left arm and Graves howls in pain._

_“Stop! Jesus, please stop!” He sobs._

_“Tss. You’re pathetic. It’s no wonder Newt left you.”_

_“Shut up,” Graves gasps._

_“I called 911, you know. They’ll be coming for you soon. Good bye, Mr. Graves.”_

_Credence walks past him and leaves him there. The ceiling spins, the dirtied floor stains him and when Graves next opens his eyes it’s because there are hands on his body, lifting him up, placing him on a stretcher. He lets himself be taken away._

_-_

After fifteen minutes of rest Graves makes a move to call Newt but his own phone rings before he has the chance to do so. The ID reads Boss Picquery, and Graves swallows his anxiety and presses the “reply” button.

“Graves.”

“Phina,” He says, letting her know he needs her tentative friendship and not her rank right now. “Hi.”

Luckily for him, she picks up on his tone immediately and Graves hears her sigh. “What is going on with you? First you take a sick leave, then another, then you throw himself into your work until you literally collapse, and then what? What am I supposed to think? Why weren’t you at the meeting with your team this morning?”

“That’s because I’m at the hospital, Phina,” Graves replies honestly. “Wait, wait -” He smiles. “I’ll let you in on a joke. You ready?”

“It had better be funny,” Seraphina says, and Graves can clearly picture her glaring daggers at him in his mind.

“Oh it is,” Graves assures her. “It is. It’s called my life.”

“Percival -”

“Don’t laugh yet, I haven’t even started. So: first, I find Newt cheating on me with his new boyfriend.” Seraphina is not an easily moved woman, but Graves does hear a sharp intake of breath at the end of the line. “I tell him what happened with Grindelwald and leave the house, meet a woman who owns a bakery, go home where Newt has left me; I go to the bakery to visit and who do I see? That’s right, Newt’s new boyfriend because he works there. I run away, get called crazy, go back to the flat; Newt comes to see me and dares say he still loves me so I threw him out. This morning I cleaned _my_ house, gathered his things in a suitcase, took it to Credence’s apartment - the boyfriend - because Newt lives there now, fuck me, honestly, and Credence caught up with up with me as I was leaving and -”

Percival breathes, “And Credence pushed me down the fucking stairs after saying something about how Newt was his and now I’m _extremely_ worried about my lover of three years who happened to cheat on me because he lives with Credence who is, apparently, a bit fucked in the head and I’m stuck at the fucking hospital and I bet that’s _exactly_ what Credence wanted and I don’t want to worry about Newt because _I’m still fucking hurt,_ Jesus, but I do because Credence is dangerous, I’m a damned detective, I can feel these things except no one will ever believe me and - “

“I believe you,” Seraphina cuts in, her voice deep and familiar and soothing. Graves lets it wash over him. “Breathe, Percival. In, out. That’s it.” He settles down progressively, lets Seraphina talk. “Let me repeat, just to make sure I got this right: Newt cheated on you with a guy who deliberately put you in the hospital.”

“Yes,” Graves confirms, throat dry.

“What’s his name?”

“Credence Barebone.”

“Text me that. I’ll get my men to run a background check on him,” Seraphina says seriously. “No one harms my right hand man and gets away with it.”

“No one?” Graves says, thinking about Grindelwald.

And there’s something hopeful, something like joy in Seraphina’s voice as she replies evenly, “No one. Which reminds me of the reason why I called you in the first place.” And Graves can hear her grinning. “Gellert Grindelwald has been apprehended in North Carolina and is currently undergoing trial for his crimes.”  

Graves stops breathing.

“Oh fuck.”

Seraphina hums. “I knew you’d like my phone call.”

“Oh fuck.” Graves feels as if a mountain lifts itself off of his shoulders, allowing him to rise up again. “Oh my God. Fuck.”

“Rest, Percival,” she says, and Graves can imagine her eyes twinkling. “I’ll be seeing you next week.”

Seraphina hangs up. Graves lets the phone fall and brings his good hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking. Tears of relief fall from his eyes and Graves wipes them immediately, half laughing and half crying.

_The bastard’s in jail._

He will never be able to hurt Percival again.

“GOD BLESS AMERICA!”

-

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a pretty shit day and decided, hey, it's not Wednesday yet but I could give a fuck. Updating Guilty makes me feel better, because the support you readers have been giving me is about the best feeling in the world and once again I can't thank enough every person who takes the time to leave a comment. You guys are awesome <3 
> 
> Enjoy !

 

* * *

 

There’s a sound at the door. Graves looks up from his e-reader and sets it at his side before taking off the reading glasses Queenie had the kindness to bring him yesterday. 

He should leave the hospital soon. His bruises are healing, a canvas of purples and greens. His arm will take time - more than a month -, but as long as Percival doesn’t go overboard with it - like, go chase criminals with his arm in a cast - he should be fine. 

He recognizes the silhouette behind the tinted glass and says, “Come in.” 

The other patient from room 301 is gone at the cafeteria, which leaves Newt and Graves alone to stare at each other. 

“Percival.” Newt’s face is pale and drawn, his eyes taking in Graves’ state. “Credence told me you fell down the stairs.”

Graves wordlessly tugs up his shirt to show him the bruise on his hips, and Newt feels his breath catch. “How…? If you just fell -” 

“I didn’t fall, Newt,” Graves says. 

“What do you mean you didn’t fall?” 

“I was pushed,” Graves tells him. “And then kicked. Which explains this - whole mess.” He waves a hand down the length of his body with his uninjured arm. 

“What? By whom?” Newt stammers. 

“The same person with whom you were laughing minutes before I arrived,” Graves says. Newt pales even further, his freckles standing out, and takes a step back. 

“Liar.” 

Graves pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m not. Credence did it.” 

“Why in the world would he do that to you?” Newt cries. “That’s not him! Credence is kind!” 

“Credence told me he wanted you all to himself. _Newt is mine_ , he said before making me ‘trip’ and fall. _”_ Graves uses his fingers to mime quotation marks in the air around the first word.

“Credence wouldn’t do that.” Newt backs away further. “That’s not him.” 

“Then why am I in a hospital bed, Newt?” Graves asks, his voice rumbling in his chest. “I ask you. Why would I make up something like this, when I liked Credence before I - before I saw the both of you together.” 

“Because I _ cheated _ on you,” Newt says, finally saying the words that keep gnawing at his mind out loud. “I  _ cheated _ on you and you could be - I don’t know, jealous of Credence? - and now you’re trying to - diminish him to make yourself feel better ? To win me back? Is this revenge?” 

Graves’ heart shatters. “Is that really what you think of me?” 

“No, I don’t - I don’t know!” Newt says, frustrated. “It makes sense!” 

“I already told you I couldn’t forgive you. For Christ’s sake, I brought your damned stuff over to Credence’s flat. If I really wanted to do as you say, if I were jealous of Credence in the way you think I am, I would have started a long time ago. Whispering lies in your ear, trying to take up all of your time so you wouldn’t think about anyone but me. But I didn’t. I let you see Credence, I let you have your own friends, your own life, because otherwise neither you nor I would have been able to build a long term relationship. I am not doing this because I am jealous of Credence. I’m doing this because despite it all I still worry about you, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

“Credence wouldn’t hurt me,” Newt protests, voice shaking. “He wouldn’t!” 

“He hurt  _ me _ , I’m lying in bed in front of you as a proof and there’s nothing you or anyone can do to change that. Credence is a kid -”

“He’s not!” 

“- Emotionally.” Graves keeps digging his fingers into the raw wound. “He’s too immature, too possessive, and he seems unstable - Newt, wait!” Newt has turned around, running towards the exit. “Newt! Please!” 

It’s the plea that makes him stop, just in time, Newt’s shoes creaking on the floor as his footsteps falter right before the door. “Please. Please. I just want you to be safe.” 

“Credence has gone through much more than you know,” Newt whispers. “He's not a child. Even if what you said is true, why do you still care?”  

“I’m only human, Newt,” Graves exhales. “I have loved you, with all my heart, body and soul for three fucking years. Of course I still care. Please. Please just - think about it. I’m not here now because I like getting hurt. I am here because someone put me here - Credence - and that’s the truth.” 

“What do you want me to do?” Newt asks. 

“Investigate. Start with Credence’s apartment. I am a detective and if Credence isn’t who we think he is - there will be proof of that.”

“This is insane,” Newt says.  

“Please, Newt. I can’t protect you anymore -” He raises his injured arm, “And I shouldn’t want to protect you, but God help me, I do. You’re fragile. I know that this - on top of everything, is too much, and I wish it wasn’t this way, but - Oh, Newt…” 

Newt holds up a hand to silence Graves, eyes shining with unshed tears. When Graves tries to speak again Newt just opens the door and leaves the room, and Graves fights his own demons. Newt needed to know. And if he hates Graves because of it, fine. At least Graves planted doubt in his mind, and it can save Newt. In time. 

-

 

**_From : Credence Barebone_ **

_ Guess what day it is?  _

 

**_From : Newt S._ **

_ 28th ?  _

 

**_From : Credence Barebone_ **

_ That’s right. Which means?  _

 

**_From : Newt S._ **

_...oh god. it’s your birthday, isn’t it? _

 

**_From : Credence Barebone_ **

_ Yes <3  _

 

**_From : Newt S._ **

_ im so sorry  _

_ i forgot. oh my god.  _

_ you have the right to revoke our friendship right now.  _

 

**_From : Credence Barebone_ **

_ It's fine, I wasn't expecting you to. I was thinking I’d rather christen it by inviting you over, but if that’s not what you want… _

 

**_From : Newt S._ **

_ no, that sounds great. what time? _

 

**_From : Credence Barebone_ **

_ Whenever you want, Newt. I have two paintings due tomorrow, I won’t leave the flat all day. _

 

**_From : Credence Barebone_ **

_ Oh, you could be my model for the second one.  _

 

**_From : Credence Barebone_ **

_ You’d be perfect  _

 

**_From : Credence Barebone_ **

_ Newt?  _

 

**_From : Newt S._ **

_ sorry. made pasta for Percival _

 

**_From : Newt S_ ** _.  _

_ he probably won’t eat it :( _

 

**_From : Credence Barebone_ **

_ Come tomorrow, after work? There’ll be pizza :) _

 

**_From : Newt S._ **

_ do you have beer?  _

 

**_From : Credence Barebone_ **

_ No. But I can buy some if you want? _

 

**_From : Newt S_ ** _.  _

_ alcohol is bad  _

**_From : Credence Barebone_ **

_ … Consider the alcohol bought.  _

 

**_From : Newt S._ **

_ oh no _

 

**_From : Credence Barebone_ **

_ ;) What Newt wants, Newt gets. Will you be there?  _

 

**_From : Newt S._ **

_ i will. happy birthday.  _

 

**_From : Credence Barebone_ **

_ I’m twenty. Imagine that.  _

 

**_From : Newt S._ **

_ i know. you get used to it _

 

_ - _

_ “Hey,” Newt smiles as he crosses the doorway. He holds a plastic bag in his hand and Credence peers at it, seeing a badly wrapped  _ something _ inside. Newt hastily hides the bag behind his back. “No peeking!”  _

_ Credence hums. “You smell that, Modesty?” He whispers to the purring cat in his arms. “That’s a present.”  _

_ “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Newt says, taking off first his shoes, then his coat. Credence puts it on the coat-hanger before following Newt inside the flat. Newt collapses on his bed, his voice muffled by the pillows as he whines.  _

_ “Tired?”  _

_ “Exhausted,” he mumbles. He suddenly sits up. “You said you had alcohol?”  _

_ “Yeah. I bought beer and vodka, just in case.”  _

_ “Perfect. Get drunk with me?”  _

_ “Newt -”  _

_ “Please?” Newt pouts. “I just really, really need it right now.”  _

_ “Percival again?” Credence asks quietly as he grabs the Absolut Vodka in his fridge.  _

_ “I don’t know what to do,” Newt says to the ceiling. “Everytime I feel like I’m making progress, he backs out so fast it’s like I have an impostor in front of me.”  _

_ “You still don’t know what happened to him?” Credence frowns. “You told me -  his throat...”  _

_ “Yeah. He was strangled.”  _

_ “That’s awful,” Credence says.  _

_ “Yeah. Give me a drink.”  _

_ Credence does. Newt takes three big gulps of vodka mixed with orange juice and shivers from head to toe as the alcohol spreads through his body.  _

_ “You said you wanted to paint?”  _

_ “I finished earlier. I don’t have class tomorrow morning, so you can stay the night too. We can watch movies and silly cat videos on Youtube.”  _

_ “That sounds really cool,” Newt says dreamily. “Hang on, let me just text him.”  _

 

**_From : Newt <3 _ **

_ hey, will be spending the night at credence’s. back tomorrow. take care. there’s pasta from yesterday in the fridge. please eat something.  _

 

**_From : Percy_ **

_ Alright. Have fun, love. _

 

_ Newt smiles at his phone and turns it off.  _

_ “So? About those cat videos?”  _

_ Credence opens his laptop, grins, and clicks on the first link he sees after typing “cat pranks” in the browser.  _

_ - _

_ Around the tenth Newt is crying tears of laughter, his speech slurred as he points at the screen. “His f-f-face!”  _

_ “Yeah,” Credence chuckles. “He looks ridiculous.”  _

_ Newt laughs harder at his comment, wiping his eyes with the hem of his shirt and missing the way Credence’s eyes linger on the skin of his stomach. “I think - “ He hiccups. “I might have dr-drank a bit too m-much.”  _

_ “Then I’m taking this back,” Credence warns as he picks up Newt’s half empty third glass on the table.  _

_ “Nooooo!” Newt whines, a hand on Credence’s thigh to support himself in his effort to try and get closer to the drink Credence holds in midair, the liquid threatening to spill. “Give that b-back!”  _

_ “You definitely drank too much,” Credence confirms, and Newt sticks his tongue out at him and squints at the glass, preparing his attack. He launches and climbs over Credence, crushing him beneath the press of his body as Credence lets himself fall on his back on the carpet. The glass escapes him and rolls on the floor, spilling its contents out, and Credence grimaces.   _

_ “No drink!” Newt whimpers, at a loss, and Credence laughs, petting Newt’s hair. Newt stares at him, flushed cheeks and confused look and he looks so adorable it’s all Credence can do not to pounce on him. He licks his lips. _

_ Newt’s eyes follow the movement of his tongue as he does so, and suddenly Newt leans down and licks  _ him _ , tracing the curve of Credence’s mouth with the tip of his tongue.  _

_ “Newt?” Credence’s skin is tingling.  _

_ “I wanna kiss you,” Newt croons drunkenly, and Credence shakes his head no. “But I wanna!”  _

_ “What about Percival?” Credence whispers even as Newt continues to press drunken, sloppy kisses all over Credence’s face.  _

_ “Percival is cold,” Newt whines. “You - warm. Here. Give me a hug?”  _

_ Credence opens his arms and lets Newt in, the latter collapsing against his chest as Credence starts running a hand through Newt’s disheveled hair, messing it further, his arm on the small of Newt’s back to keep him in place atop Credence. Credence can practically hear Newt purr as he continues the affectionate gestures and Newt melts against him, a contented sigh escaping his lips.  _

_ Credence feels wetness on his shoulder and he realizes that Newt has started to cry. “Newt?” Credence slowly pulls himself up, forcing Newt to accompany him until the both of them are sitting face to face. “What’s wrong?”  _

_ “It’s just - I miss him,” Newt sobs. “P-Percy doesn’t touch me like t-t-that anymore and - and -”  _

_ “Oh, Newt.” Credence gives him a hug again, Newt burrowing his face in the crook of Credence’s shoulder as he cries silently.  _

_ “What am I doing wrong?” Newt wails. “It’s been s-s-so long already…”  _

_ “It’ll be okay.”  _

_ Newt disagrees, his head moving from left to right on Credence’s shoulder and Credence lets him. Eventually his crying subsides and Newt pulls himself upright, kneeling in front of Credence.  _

_ “I’m sorry,” he sniffs.  _

_ And he looks pretty like this, Credence thinks, pale skin and freckles, messy hair and puffy eyes and Credence’s mouth sets into a thin line as he comes to a decision.  _

_ Gently, Credence cups the side of Newt’s face in his hand and leans in to give him a kiss. Newt gasps against him and doesn’t respond. Credence draws back, searching Newt’s face for a reaction, but Newt’s eyes are closed and his mouth slack.  _

_ So Credence does it again.  _

_ And again.  _

_ He worships Newt with kisses until eventually, Newt is smiling and moving his mouth against Credence’s own, and Credence’s want turns into need.  _

_ “Wait,” Newt says when Credence starts nipping at the delicate skin of his neck. “I can’t do that to - ah! - no - Percival,” He pants even as he bares his throat to give Credence access. Credence smiles wickedly at him and Newt whimpers softly, sending little starbursts of heat straight between Credence’s thighs.  _

_ “He doesn’t need to know,” Credence murmurs in Newt’s mouth, slipping his hands under Newt’s shirt to caress his skin. And Newt wants it, wants him: it’s written in the curve of his mouth as it parts, in the shortness of breath Credence manages to create, in the roll of Newt’s hips against Credence’s own. “Nobody needs to know.”  _

_ “This is wrong,” Newt tries, but he doesn’t say no - by God, Credence’s touches feel so good, better than anything else in his world and - oh! _

_ “Yeah,” Credence breathes. Newt moans at him, the delicious pressure of Credence’s hand cupping his crotch is the best thing Newt has felt in months and he can feel himself harden rapidly. “That’s it. Let go, Newt. You deserve this.”  _

_ Newt wants to believe him, he really does, and somehow he manages to, his mind fuzzy from the alcohol still present in his blood and the overwhelming sensations coursing through him.  _

_ Credence kisses him, slips his tongue inside Newt’s mouth, sucks at his lower lip and Newt sighs; the fingers of Credence’s right hand find one of Newt’s nipples and he tweaks the rosy bud, sending a stab of lust straight through Newt’s spine and Newt cries out; Credence unbuttons Newt’s pants, starting to palm him through his underwear, following the outline of Newt’s cock, and Newt gives himself up entirely.  _

_ A corner of his brain gnaws at him, tells him to feel guilty, but it fades the longer Credence teases him and disappears completely as Credence takes Newt into his mouth like his cock is the holy communion.   _

_ “Oh my God!”  _

_ “Credence will do,” Credence says, smug, and resumes his task.  _

_ Newt comes with a cry and Credence’s name on his lips, and he doesn’t think about the man he loves.  _

_ - _

The day Graves gets out of the hospital, Seraphina calls him back to talk about Credence.

“He’s an only child,” she says over the phone, and Graves can hear the sound of her rustling papers. “Father unknown. Biological mother died shortly after his birth. He stayed in the system before being adopted by a woman - Mary Lou Barebone - but the house caught fire when he was fifteen. His academic prowesses let him be granted a full scholarship and he graduated high school early. He worked a series of part time jobs for the next two years, moved into his own flat at eighteen, and took up art studies. He’s even done an exhibition last June - there’s an article about him in a magazine. Takes up half the page. He seems quite appreciated.” 

“I see,” Graves murmurs, stepping outside. It’s raining and he curses, trying to hold both his phone and his bag in his right hand and taking care not to move his broken arm. “A typical magical boy.” 

“Indeed. Apart from that, he’s quite popular on social medias - he posts his paintings and drawings - but he doesn’t seem to get out much in real life.” 

“He works for the Kowalskis’ bakery,” Graves adds, “And I met him a couple of times when Newt invited him to the apartment.” 

“And?” 

“Nothing.” Graves steps under the rain, walking in quick strides to find a taxi. “Polite as you please, helpful, a good conversationalist when spoken to. He seemed a bit intimidated by me.” 

“We need more proof, Graves,” Seraphina says. “There’s nothing here. Yes, he had a tough childhood, but so does half of New York.”

“He did assault me,” Graves reminds her grumpily. “Wait a sec.” Graves waves his arm and a taxi pulls over before him. Graves climbs in and gives the driver his address, before picking up the conversation again. “I’m a police officer. A detective.” 

“It won’t be enough. You were the only witness  _ and _ the victim. Even with pictures of your injuries, the worst he can get is a slap on his hands.” 

“I know,” Graves sighs. He lowers his voice. “I asked Newt to search the kid’s flat for evidence. I don’t know if he’ll ever do it.” 

“How did  _ his _ visit go?” Seraphina asks delicately. 

“Credence told him I tripped,” Graves says, disgusted. “He thought I was trying to make myself look good by accusing him.” 

Seraphina swears under her breath. “Damn. I expected that, but still -”  

“I know,” Graves agrees quietly.  

“We could get someone with a warrant to search the flat, you know. That would be quicker than waiting for Mr. Scamander to believe you.” Her voice sounds slightly strained.

“We could,” Graves asks, smiling a little at Seraphina’s tone of voice. “But I don’t want Credence to suspect anything. Let him think he’s won. Let him think I will cower and not approach Newt again while I investigate further, and if there is something - we’ll catch him unaware.” 

“Now that sounds more like the Percival I know,” Seraphina says warmly. “Is that something like glee I hear in your voice?” 

“I have a broken arm and a broken heart, and Credence is charged guilty for both.” 

“What about Newt?” 

“He’s already in jail.” 

“Too bad we can’t arrest Credence on those charges,” Seraphina muses. “That would make our jobs easier.” 

“Wouldn’t it?” 

“For now we wait, Percival,” she says, serious once more. “If Newt doesn’t pull his head out of his arse in the upcoming three days I am getting that warrant whether you like it or not so you can finally get a good night’s sleep.” 

“Sounds like a good concept.” 

“And in the meantime,” Seraphina continues, rolling her eyes, “You take care of yourself and follow the doctor’s orders. Actually, scratch that. You follow my orders. As your superior, I am ordering you to rest, Percival Gondolphus Graves.” 

“Did you really have to bring my middle name into this?” Percival groans.

“Yes. Take care of yourself. I’ll call you back in a couple of days. And if you’re bored, you can join me at the office. A broken arm means you’re paperwork-free, but we might still need your input and thoughts. They’re valuable.”

“I will,” Graves says. “Have a good day, Seraphina.” 

“You too.” 

Graves hangs up. The taxi stops in front of Graves’ building and Graves pulls his wallet out of his bag, trying to get through the procedure of paying quickly and failing. He finally gets his hand on a bill, gives it to the driver and gets out of the car under the pouring rain. The elevator brings him to the right floor in no time and he walks to his door, putting his bag down in order to open it. 

He slips inside the warmth of his apartment, shrugging off the coat placed on his shoulders. He checks his phone again for new messages and decides to keep reading the book he started on his e-reader. There’s not much else he can do with a broken arm, anyway. 

He sighs, restless. He’s incapacitated when he was just stepping back into the game. Now the inaction is eating at him. Healing means staying put with his brain for sole company and Graves is tired of that. Give him something to _ do _ . 

_ Stop thinking about him! Why do you want to protect him? He’s right! Why do you still care? He doesn’t believe you! He’s happy on his own! He’s forgotten you already! Perhaps he never cared! Why do you worry? Stop it!   _

Graves moves his left arm accidentally and pain flares through it. He bites his lips, eyes watering, and swallows his whine; breathing in and out slowly through his nose. 

_ And what the fuck is wrong with  _ you _ , Credence Barebone?! _

Shakily, Graves lets himself collapse into his armchair. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, trying to relax against the backrest.

_ Newt.  _

Graves lets himself drown. 

_ Be safe, please. Call me a liar all you want _ ,  _ but I wish nothing more than to be freed from you _ .  _ Yet I keep thinking about you. I keep seeing you behind closed eyes. I keep worrying and wondering. I hate you for what you’ve done, so why? _

_ Why do I still love you?  _

_ Why did this have to end ?  _

_ Was it always a battle I was meant to lose? I was trying to protect you. It took courage to let you in, Newt. You know that. You were there every step of the way. Now I don’t know who you are. Where you are. Are you okay?  _

_ Do you think about me too?  _

_ Newt.  _

-

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and plot !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT those who comment add years to my life and make me want to write eVEN MORE THINGS 
> 
> Next Wednesday is already the last chapter. I'm sad :( 
> 
> Also - Credence is 20, Newt is 25, and Percy is 42. Tina is 40 in this, and Queenie 36. 
> 
> Apologies for any inaccuracies regarding medicine or police investigations, I'm just a humble French girl trying to do the writing thing. thank u ❤︎ ❤︎

 

* * *

* * *

 

“Newt!” 

Newt squeezes his eyes shut, trying to forget the world, and groans a ‘What?’ out. Credence sits on the side of the bed, ruffling the bird’s nest that is Newt’s hair peeking out of the covers. 

“I’m going to the bakery. Get up, sleepyhead. It’s eleven already. There’s hot water in the kettle. Don’t you have to go to the zoo?” 

“Not until two,” Newt mumbles. He feels so tired. 

“That’s three hours away,” Credence says. 

“Don’t you have a bakery to go to?” Newt retorts. He’s not in the mood for Credence’s cheerfulness. His head is killing him. He keeps dreaming of Graves and Credence and gets lost in their echoes, the two intertwining, drawing two different paths Newt tries to follow confusedly. 

“I do. Want me to bring you something?” 

“Not hungry,” Newt says. “Go. You’ll be late.” 

“Alright.” Credence kisses the top of his head and Newt shivers. 

_ I’m only human, Newt. I have loved you, with all my heart, body and soul for three fucking years.  _

The front door slams shut and Newt is left alone. 

_ Investigate.  _

Newt turns on his side until he’s staring at the wall, chewing on his fingers. “No.“

_ If Credence isn’t who we think he is, there will be proof of that.  _

“Shut up!”

_ Please, Newt.  _

“Argh!” 

Newt pulls the covers off of him and jumps on his feet. “Fine! Fine! You want me to investigate? I’ll investigate thoroughly so you can realize that this is stupid and that Credence does  _ not _ mean to hurt me!” 

Newt pulls the covers off the bed completely, throws the pillows away, turns the mattress upside down. “See ? Nothing!” 

He throws himself on all fours on the floor and keeps going. Under the carpet, behind the lamp, under the table, under the bed, behind the curtains - “Nothing!” 

He opens Credence’s drawers, rummages through his underwear, his socks, his shirts, and t-shirt and pants and sweaters - “ _ Nothing _ , Percival!” 

He goes to the bathroom, opens the cupboards violently, looks beyond the shaving cream and disinfectants and deodorant, finds nothing; he crouches down, opens the space beneath the sink and searches in between the towels, finds condoms and lube in the process, but not what he is  _ looking _ for. Something  _ suspicious _ . He snorts and continues looking, Graves’ voice at the back of his mind urging him on. 

The bathroom is clean. Newt steps back into the corridor, looks through Credence’s pair of shoes, lifts the various coats and vests hanging on the coatrack behind the entry door and feels more and more ridiculous as he does so. 

There’s only one space left to check - the kitchen, and Newt does so slowly, starting by the fridge. Meat, beer, two apples, butter and milk. The freezer is vacant. So are the cupboards beneath the sink, beyond the usual cutlery. Newt looks in the bean, just in case, but it’s been emptied recently. There is only one thing left to check, a cupboard standing weirdly high above the cooker in what is maybe an architectural default, and Newt knows that’s where Credence keeps his coffee. He takes a chair and climbs on it. 

First level, the coffee in question, a normal, disgusting brand anyone could buy at the local supermarket, as well as dried up milk, pasta, and tinned food. On the second level Newt finds paper plates and plastic silverware, as well as an old pack of cookies. The third level is where Credence keeps salt, pepper, basil, garlic powder and yellow mustard. Newt peers inside the darkness and shakes his head before actually digging his hand inside the cupboard to see if he’s missed anything. He brings the spices closer to him, searches at the back and ah - he must have missed a bottle, because his fingers bump into something and Newt closes his hand around it to bring it to the light. 

It’s not a spice. 

It’s not something that Credence should have in his kitchen either. 

It’s not something anyone should keep in their kitchen. It doesn’t belong in a kitchen. Newt is very familiar with the black bottle, with the tiny writings he sees on the label, with the little warning signs on the other side of the tag.  

The world mutes around him, and he can hear Percival’s proud voice as clearly as if the man was standing next to him. 

“Good job, Newt.” 

Newt steps down from the chair and places the bottle on the kitchen table.  _ Diethyl ether _ innocently stares back at him and Newt curses. “ _ Fuck _ !” 

-

Graves is on his way to the pharmacy when his phone rings. The caller ID reads  _ Newt Scamander _ , and Graves freezes in the middle of the street. There’s no reason for Newt to be calling him - unless… 

His heart in his throat, Graves presses the ‘reply’ button. 

“Newt?” 

“Percival,” Newt’s voice replies. “I did as you said. I searched his flat.” 

Newt’s voice doesn’t give him any indication, and Graves swallows thickly, his fingers curling around the phone in his hand. “And?” 

“It was clean.” Graves feels his heart plummet in his chest. “Save for a bottle of diethyl ether.” 

“A bottle of what?” 

“It’s a drug. Not the original compound formula, mind you - a byproduct of it, slightly less dangerous.” 

“Newt,” Graves says, eyes wide. “What kind of drug?” 

“It’s an anesthetic. It’s been used as a recreational drug at some point in history - the drug is a liquid, you can inject or inhale it and get high on it - but nowadays it’s to be used only by zoos and veterinarians.” 

“An anesthetic,” Graves repeats. “Makes you sleep?” 

“Yes.” 

“Would Credence drug himself?” 

“I don’t know,” Newt cries. “But I don’t think so. Ether is dangerous if taken without any medical prescription - the side effects aren’t pleasant, and Credence has always seemed normal. That’s why it stopped being used to anaesthetize patients.” 

“And you use it at the zoo?” 

“Yes - this version, in small enough doses, is used in animals’ food and water to make them sleep. But it’s tightly controlled.” 

“Then how could he have gotten it?” 

“There’s the barcode to the zoo on the bottle,” Newt admits quietly.

“So he stole it,” Graves says, nostrils flaring. “You took him to the zoo, right?”

“Yes. But what would he need that for?” 

“Don’t hang up, please. Do you think - and by God, I don’t want to say this, but - do you think he could have used it on you?” 

“...” 

“Newt?” 

“He has a cat. He could have needed it for her.”

“Without any indication from the veterinarian? Did he tell you his cat had a problem?”  

“No -” 

“Would he have done so if that was the case? Does he tend to share those sorts of things with you?” 

“Yes,” Newt whispers.

“He stole the drug from the zoo, yet he does not need it. He is hiding it at home, but not for his cat and not for himself. He is an art student, not a scientist, thus it is not to experiment with it either. There’s nothing justifying the presence of ether in his cupboard, none that we know of. Tell me what the effects of ether are.” 

Newt takes a deep breath, mind reeling with the discovery and what Graves plucks from it. “It depends if you inhale it or -” 

“You said it was a liquid. What happens if one drinks it?” 

“If it comes in contact with the skin - simple irritation,” Newt recites. “In big and repeated doses, the skin will dry and flake. General eye irritation, but no long lasting effects. Loss of appetite, headaches, dizziness and sleepiness. It all depends on the dosage, of course, but -” 

“Can it be fatal?” Graves asks urgently. 

“You can overdose on it, yes. Like any drug. And prolonged exposure induces disorientation, nausea, vomiting and an inability to clear your head.” 

“Fuck me,” Graves breathes. “Newt. Are you free right now?” 

“I'm at the flat. I need to tidy things up and go to the zoo at two.” 

“Okay - good. During your break, Newt, I want you to look at the records listing the different medicines used at the zoo. If you don't have clearance, call me. See if there's anything missing. Then I want you to join me at the police station. I’ll call Seraphina. Bring what you found with you. And, Newt?”

“Yes?”

“I’m proud of you.” Graves says softly.

Newt doesn’t reply and Graves hangs up, mentally going over what they have. He has the doctor’s pictures of his injuries in his bag. He will file a complaint against Credence for assault. And now this - Newt’s discovery of ether… 

Jesus Christ, Graves feels murderous - if Credence dared to use it on Newt… Newt sleeping and unaware of what’s happening… He could have done anything to him. Anything. Graves shivers. 

He hurries to the police station. On his way he stops by the pharmacy to buy generic sleeping pills, hoping they will allow him to get some rest, a small respite between the pain in his arm, his bruised heart and his restless mind. 

-

At seven pm, Newt knocks on Seraphina Picquery’s door. She opens it immediately and Newt sees Graves turn around from where he was looking over case files at the table. 

“Mr. Scamander,” she greets him coldly. 

“Newt,” Graves says. “Come in.” 

Seraphina steps aside, looking down severely at him, and Newt ducks his head, trying to ignore the guilt. He knows Seraphina and Graves go way back, and he knows Graves must have told her about his - mistake. Seraphina has every right be mad at him, and she is a terrifying woman. 

But Graves is kind as he asks if Newt found anything, and Newt nods. He opens his leather brown bag and sets the bottle of ether on the table - his eyes catch on various graphic pictures of the bruises he knows decorates Graves’ body on one side of the table, and he quickly looks away - as well as one sheet of paper. 

“Missing bottle of ether.” 

“How long ago was it stolen?” Graves asks, searching for a date on the records. 

“About two months ago,” Newt says, voice small. Graves snaps his head up. 

“Which is about the same time as you and him started to -”

“Yes,” Newt says, looking away. Silence falls, awkward, and Graves clears his throat. 

“Mind filling me in?” Seraphina breaks in, turned towards Graves and ignoring Newt supremely.  “What’s all this?” 

“Seraphina. I told you I asked Newt to search Credence’s apartment.” 

“He actually did it?” She sniffs. “And?” 

“He found ether in Credence’s kitchen. Something Newt and the other keepers use at the zoo to anesthetize animals. It’s been stolen - Newt has the proof right there.”

He sees the moment she reaches the same conclusion as him. “He could have used it on Mr. Scamander,” she murmurs. “This just keeps getting better. Assault on a detective, stealing from a state facility and repeated drug use on someone without their knowledge?”

“You have no proof that he did as you say,” Newt says, pale. 

“It’s too much of a coincidence, Mr. Scamander. The drug disappearing right after you started  _ cheating _ on Percival?” Her voice is harsh, and Newt flinches. 

“Would he try to drug his cat, Newt?” 

“I doubt it,” Newt whispers. “He’s very fond of her.” 

“He doesn’t use it on his pet, and he doesn’t use it on himself,” Graves resumes. “We just need to prove that he did use it on Newt - and would be willing to do so again.” 

“Hidden camera,” Seraphina says. “Nothing more simple. But we’re going to need Mr. Scamander’s cooperation.” She turns her eyes on him and Newt feels crushed underneath her glare. 

“What - what do I need to do?” Newt swallows.

“We should get someone to check Credence’s bank account. I imagine drugs like that aren’t cheap - if there is no money withdrawal corresponding to such an expense in Mr. Barebone’s account, we can confirm that he stole it.”

“Very good, Mr. Graves,” Seraphina praises. “I will assign Abernathy to this task. In the meantime, Mr. Scamander, here’s what you will do: go home, put the drug back exactly where you found it and await further instructions. Do you know Credence’s schedule? 

“Tomorrow is his day off,” Newt frowns, “But he’ll be absent on Friday morning.” 

“Call Mr. Graves to confirm his absence then, and I’ll have someone ready to set up a hidden camera in Credence’s kitchen. It shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes. Now, what would make Credence  _ want  _ to use that drug on Mr. Scamander?” 

“Me,” Graves says. “Given how he behaved the last time I saw him, hearing Newt talk about me - worry about me - will surely piss him off. He tried to get rid of me, after all.” He tries to gauge Newt’s reaction, but Newt doesn’t react to his choice of words. 

“Yes. Mr. Scamander - talk about Percival. About how - “ Seraphina smirks. “How you’re worried about him, how you still  _ miss _ him. Maybe add in that he  _ accused  _ Credence of pushing him and how you just can’t believe he would tell such a lie, burst into tears, make a scene, do what you do best - and if we’re lucky, you’ll get drugged and we’ll have visual proof of his misdeeds. Enough to officially open the investigation.” 

Newt stares at her, gobsmacked. “I’m sorry?” 

“I’m not letting Newt get drugged on purpose, Seraphina, even if it’s for the case,” Graves argues. “He could just pretend to drink.” 

“If he can be convincing enough in pretending he falls asleep, then yes. How good are you at acting, Mr. Scamander?” 

“Very,” Graves murmurs. Newt looks at him, and Graves is the one who turns his head away. 

“We will be watching it happen in real time. Keep your phone close to you - Mr. Graves will text you should we see Credence slip the drug in your tea, so you will know what to do.” 

Newt swallows. “What if I say no to this whole plan?” 

“Then you’d be even more cowardly than I thought,” she says. “And I’ll be further convinced that Percival always deserved much better than you. Get out of my office.” 

Both Newt and Graves’ mouths drop open in surprise. Seraphina stares down at Newt, merciless. Slowly, Newt grabs the bottle of ether back on the table and turns around until he opens the door, letting the corridor swallow him. 

“Seraphina -” 

“Do not make me apologize, Percival Graves,” she says, glaring daggers at Newt’s retreating back. “He deserved it. He had it coming. God knows I wanted to say much worse. Promise me you won’t make such a mistake ever again.” 

“Thank you,” Graves says quietly. 

Her eyes soften as she uncrosses her arm. “You’re my friend, Percival. It’s normal.” 

“There was a time when letting him in didn’t feel like a mistake,” Graves says, looking down at the pictures of his bruises. “Let’s go back to the case.” 

“The case,” Seraphina echoes. 

“I don’t want to see him get hurt.” 

“He won’t. I don’t want to see  _ you _ get hurt.” 

“What else could happen to me?” Graves asks. “I already feel like I’ve been through hell.” 

“You did, and you still managed to drag yourself out of it,” Seraphina says. “There’s not much I can do about your personal life, but I won’t let Grindelwald repeat itself - not when I can help it. We already have evidence against Credence. I’ll make sure it breaks through.” 

“Thank you.” 

“It’s my job,” she says. “It’s getting late. Do you want to eat together?” 

“I’d like that.” 

Seraphina smiles. “Then lead the way, Mr. Graves.” 

-

The next day, Graves decides to visit the Kowalskis again. Even though he told Queenie to apologize to Jacob on his behalf, he’d like to do it properly - and Queenie will want to know what progress they made on the situation, as well as know how Percival is doing. She cares too much about him. Graves is sure he doesn’t deserve her kindness, yet he can’t help but preserve every bit of it. 

There’s a ‘closed’ sign on the door when he arrives and Graves frowns, disappointed. He did warn Queenie he was coming by text - perhaps that’s why she closed the bakery? No, ridiculous. She wouldn’t do it just for him. Maybe she forgot? Had an emergency? Graves peers inside, trying to see something, and knocks three times. Something moves in his field of vision and he steps back, allowing Queenie to open the door. 

“Look at who it is!” She grins, cheerful as ever. 

“Hey, Queen.” 

“Well? Don’t just stand there! I made cookies, come in,” she urges him. 

“Why are you guys closed?” 

“Oh - we’re always closed on Thursdays, it’s Jacob’s day off. He prepares himself for the rush we always get during the weekends. Come, I’ll introduce you to my sister.” 

“Your sister? I don’t want to bother -” 

“Nonsense,” she says, her hand on the small of his back to gently push him towards the tables. “You’re family too now. Besides, you have a  _ lot  _ to tell me.” 

Graves follows awkwardly. There’s a dark haired woman sitting at one of the tables, looking at her phone. She’s got a bit of chocolate on her upper lip from the half eaten cookie Graves sees before her, and he resists the urge to take out the handkerchief in his pocket to clean it himself. 

“Tina,” Queenie calls. “Percival is here.” 

Tina startles, setting her phone away and looking up at them, and Graves’ words of introduction die on his tongue upon seeing her face. She’s awfully familiar - grown up, more lines etched on her face, more life inside her eyes - but her smile is the same as it was when they were just teenagers, and Graves says, not quite believing it, “Teenie?” 

Tina looks at him in wonder and turns to her sister, accusing. “You didn’t tell me Percival was Percy!” 

“What?” Queenie says, lost. Tina grins and steps closer to him, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. 

“Hey,” she says. Graves smiles back, genuinely, for the first time in what feels like years, and it’s like he’s in that high school corridor again, twenty five years ago before Tina moved houses, away from their city and away from him. 

-

_ Graves waits outside, sitting on the floor, having just been expelled from class. He hears footsteps and they falter in front of him. He doesn’t pay attention, except when the person in question suddenly sits next to him. Graves turns to look at them. Her hair falls to her shoulders, her face is nondescript, and she looks straight ahead, blushing. Graves shrugs and ignores her.  _

_ “Tina Goldstein,” she finally says after a while. Graves grunts. He doesn’t want to bother with another sophomore who probably has a silly crush on him. “You know, the polite thing to do when one talks to you would be to introduce yourself as well.”  _

_ Graves turns his dark gaze on her. “Don’t you know my name already?”  _

_ “Should I?”  _

_ “You tell me.”  _

_ “Well, I don’t, Mr. Cockyhead. I just wondered what you were doing here, moping and generally looking miserable.”  _

_ Graves opens his mouth, incredulous. “I don’t look miserable!”  _

_ “You do. Like a kicked puppy.”  _

_ “Do not!”  _

_ “Do so,” she replies evenly. Graves shakes his head.  _

_ “I’ll call you Anonymous if you keep being like this. Or Puppy.”  _

_ He sighs and relents, offering her his hand like he’s been taught to. She shakes it, amused. “Percival Graves.”  _

_ “Percy.”  _

_ “Absolutely not.”  _

_ “Absolutely yes.”  _

_ “I’ll call you Teenie if you do that. Tiny.”  _

_ She shrugs. “I don’t mind. It’s cute. So is Percy.”  _

_ “You’re weird,” Graves says.  _

_ “I gotta get to class,” she replies, getting up and brushing invisible dirt off her skirt. “Will I see you again?” Graves makes an inarticulate noise. “I’ll take that as a yes. See you later, Percy! And stop pouting!”  _

_ “I don’t pout!” He calls after her, and she turns back to stick her tongue out at him. Graves grumbles. “The fuck is her problem?”  _

_ Despite his wishes, he does see Tina again. And as time passes he finds that she is surprisingly easy to talk to, despite their age and gender difference, and before he realizes he starts seeking her out by himself. His ‘friends’ tease him about it, of course, and Graves does his best to deny their implications. _

_ Tina comes to see him one day, looking sad, and says in a tight-clipped voice, “I’m moving away.”  _

_ “What?” Graves asks. The sun is shining outside and they’re having a picnic in a park - Tina’s idea, Graves would never have done such a thing by himself - and Graves doesn’t believe her. “You can’t do that.”  _

_ “My dad got a better job elsewhere,” she says, hugging her knees. “We’re going far away.” _

_ “When?”  _

_ “Soon. Before your graduation.”  _

_ “Oh,” he says, voice smaller than it should be. “Well. You have fun, then.”  _

_ She rolls her eyes. “Percival Graves, you utter idiot. Don’t give me the whole ‘I’m a strong man and this isn’t affecting me’ bullshit.” She rolls over to him and places a hand over his heart. “Give me a hug? I’ll miss you too. More than you ever know.”  _

_ Tentatively, Graves wraps his arms around her small form and closes his eyes. “Yeah. Me too, Teenie.”  _

_ They stay like this, until the sun sets over the horizon and guards start patrolling the park, and then they get up and walk together to the exit before taking different paths, each getting to their respective homes.  _

_ Graves misses her already.  _

_ Graduation comes and he feels proud, but he wishes Tina was in the crowd, a silly grin on her face to congratulate him afterwards.  _

_ He hopes that wherever she is, she feels good.  _

_ - _

“You guys know each other?” Queenie asks, bewildered. 

“We do,” Graves says softly. Tina’s eyes are shining. “Or we used to. She was my friend in high school.” 

“The one you talked about all the time, Tina? This friend?” 

Tina laughs. “Yeah, this friend.” 

“Oh my God - I hadn’t made the connection,” Queenie says, apologetic. 

“It’s okay,” Graves says. 

“More than okay.” Tina steps closer to him and Graves looks up at her -  _ why is he always the small one? _ \- then she says with the same voice that he knew, “Give me a hug?” 

Graves wants to. God, he wants to - but he looks at his broken arm pointedly and Tina retreats. Queenie looks at them and says, “I’ll leave you guys alone,” before retreating back to the kitchen. 

“Queenie, wait -” 

“Percival Graves,” Tina says, eyes warm and happy. “I can’t believe it. Look at you. All grown up and handsome.” She winks. “If I knew you lived in the area I would have come sooner. But what the hell happened to you?” 

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” Graves returns the compliment. “I, uh - I fell down the stairs. It’s nothing. How have you been?” 

Tina raises an eyebrow. “You, fall down the stairs? Unless you’ve really gotten tired and crippled in your old age, I’m calling bullshit. What really happened to you?” 

And Graves, God help him, Graves feels his eyes fill with tears before he can stop himself. Because this woman, that he hasn’t seen in years, trusts him on the spot while he has to go through hell and back to make his ex-lover believe in what he has to say. He looks to the side, tries to talk, opens his mouth and fails. Tina senses the change in atmosphere and her smile falls. Graves blames himself. Can’t he at least  _ pretend _ to be okay, for the sake of their reunion? 

“Percival?” She says softly. “What is it? Tell me.” 

“I haven’t seen you in years.”

“Does that really change anything for you?” She asks. “Because I don’t care. I still consider you my friend. I haven’t stopped, not in all those years.” 

“I - no,” Graves says quietly. “I know. I missed you too.” 

Tina takes his right hand in hers and squeezes, comforting. “Then tell me.” 

-

“So you’re leading an investigation on a guy who is possibly nutters?” 

“Yeah. We’re gathering evidence at the moment.” 

“And how do you like it? Being a detective?” 

“It’s - terrifying these days,” Graves admits quietly. “But there were other days where I wouldn’t have traded my job for the world.” 

“What changed?” 

“A lot. Tell me about you.” 

-

“An engineer? That’s - wow. Tina. Congratulations.” 

“Thank you,” she says, smug. “You know, in another life, I probably would have worked at the police by your side. I’m sure I can handle a gun better than you.” 

“Yeah,” Graves says. “In another, better life.” 

-

“Your friend,” she says, nibbling on what’s left of her cookie. It’s almost five pm outside, and the world is quiet around them. “Have you looked at their phone?” 

“What?” 

“If the guy seems as possessive as you say - couldn’t he have, I don’t know, traced your friend’s phone? Stalked him?” 

“I - oh,” Graves says, caught off-guard. “Why didn’t I even think of that? I’m a fucking detective, for Christ’s sake.” 

“You are, and you are also hurt and exhausted,” she says gently. “You’re only human, Percy. You make mistakes. Don’t be too hard on yourself.” 

Graves tries to smile at her, and almost manages it, too. 

-

“Where are you staying?” 

“Queenie’s guest room,” Tina says, pointing her fingers at the ceiling above her. “I need to catch up with her as well.” Then she grins. “She’s worried silly about the upcoming wedding. Will you be there?” 

“I’ll try,” Graves smiles. “Haven’t received any invitation yet.” 

“I’ll make sure you get one.” 

“Thank you, Teenie.” 

-

“It’s getting late,” Graves says. “I should head home.” 

“We have to meet again sometime. Are you free on Saturday evening?” 

“I’ll make do.” 

“You had better. Give me a hug?” Graves gives a tiny nod and Tina hugs his side gently, taking care not to touch his broken arm. “Be careful, Percival.” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you on Saturday?” 

“I can’t wait,” Tina smiles brightly. 

-

_ “Graves.”  _

_ “Madam Picquery,” Graves says. “We’re going to need a hacker.”  _

_ “In relation to our case?” She says without missing a beat. _

_ “Yes. We need to check Mr. Scamander’s phone for any hidden applications used for tracking, monitoring, anything that would indicate stalking on Mr. Barebone’s part. I’ll call Newt to tell him to drop his phone by the police station tomorrow.” _

_ “Good thinking, Mr. Graves.”  _

_ “Thank you,” Graves smiles. “But I had help.”  _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be prepared for next week's final chapter before the epilogue :] 
> 
> my tumblr is @thegaypumpingthroughyourveins, feel free to come say hello !! ❤︎


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence could have handled things better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe this is the last chapter already, I'm sad. I poured my heart and soul and so much TIME into this, holy shit. 
> 
> Thank you for the support and feedback, i love youuuu aaaaaah 
> 
> Good luck >:D read the tags to this fic again before you start this chapter. Onward !

 

-

“Alright. Newt, we’re all set here,” Graves’ deep voice echoes over the phone. “When does Credence come home?”

“Any minute now,” Newt says. He’s waiting on Credence’s bed, trying not to think about the hidden camera in the kitchen or the presence of the drug in the cupboard.

“Remember the code?”

“Yes,” Newt whispers.

“Then we’re good. I’ll talk to you later, lo - Newt.”

Graves hangs up. Seraphina stands next to him, both of them looking at the computer screen as they wait for the action to start.

-

“Newt?” Credence calls, crouching down to pet a purring Modesty who came running at him the instant he walked through the door. “I’m home.”

“Welcome back,” Newt says, his voice faint, and Credence frowns.

“You alright?” He walks into the flat, dropping his bag down, gathering his coat in his arms and taking off his shoes.

“Just not feeling well,” Newt replies as Credence comes into the room and kneels down in front of Newt on the bed, making him flinch slightly. The fact that Credence stole and hid the drug is still raw in his mind, no matter what Picquery says - that, and Graves’ accident, the secret hidden camera, the fact that he knows Graves and Picquery will be watching it all happening - Newt is not lying when he says he’s not feeling well.

Credence moves his hand to Newt’s forehead and Newt cringes, backing away until he bumps into the wall. Credence stops midair, mouth parted. There’s silence in the room, interrupted only by Newt’s breathing and when he opens his mouth to apologize Credence asks slowly, “Newt? Why are you scared of me?”

Newt’s eyes widen. “N - Not afraid,” he stammers. “Just not feeling well -”

“You’re sweating.”

“I’m sick,” Newt insists. “I was feeling bad at the zoo and I took medicine but it didn’t get better - I just need to lay down.”

Credence looks at him, judging his condition before he says quietly, “Alright. You rest. I’ll go make dinner.”

“Thank you.”

“How does rice sound?”

“Good. Very good,” Newt swallows.

“Okay.”

-

“Let the games begin,” Seraphina says, seeing Credence appear on screen, opening one of the cupboards to take a pan out and fill it with water before turning on the gas. Graves hums and sits on a chair, trying to ignore the beating of his heart.

-

The timer dings and Credence turns off the gas. He pours the hot water over a colander, takes a pair of scissors to open the two packets of cooked rice and prepares two plates for him and Newt, before grabbing a tray and setting them on it.

When he walks back into the room Newt is dozing off, laying down on the covers and Credence smiles. “Newt? Dinner’s ready, love.”

Newt moves his head minutely, rubbing at his eyes before he sits up. Credence takes a place next to him on the bed, passing Newt his plate, and starts to eat. After two mouthfuls he notices Newt hasn’t moved at all, staring at the rice and the glass of water in front of him, and stops. “Newt?”

“Sorry,” Newt gasps. “Just - really not feeling good. I don’t think I’ll eat anything.”

“You need to eat, love -”

“And stop calling me that,” Newt snaps. “Not the nickname Percival used -”

“Ah,” Credence says, eyes darkening. “Is _he_ the reason why you’re feeling bad?” Newt looks away. “What did he do this time? What did he tell you? I told you going to the hospital was a bad idea.”

“He said - he said you pushed him down those stairs,” Newt admits, looking sideways at Credence.

Credence stares, incredulous, before laughing loudly. “And you believe him? I told you, Newt! He tripped, fell before I could catch him - not that I would have been able to - and then I called 911 _for_ him. He’s pathetic to blame it on me. And delusional.”

“Don’t.” Newt says. “Don’t talk about him like that. He’s been through enough -”

“Funny,” Credence says, “I recall you added to his suffering, didn’t you?”

Silence rings in the room and Credence bites his lips. “I’m sorry, Newt, I didn’t mean -”

“Shut up,” Newt sobs. Credence sighs. “I already feel guilty enough as it is - why do you keep saying stuff like this?!”

“Why do you keep thinking of him?” Credece shoots back, taking Newt’s face in his hands and forcing him to look at him. “It’s _over_! You’re done! You chose _me_ a long time ago! I’ll never treat you like he did, Newt,” Credence promises urgently. “I won’t. I love you more than anything in the world, I can give you what he never did, I’m more than enough! Just forget him!”

“I can’t do that, Credence! I loved him!”

“Yeah, and it faded away, and now you love _me_ ,” Credence says, raking a hand through his hair. “Don’t move. I’ll go make some tea - you need to chill the fuck out.”

Newt snaps his head up, fear in his eyes but Credence already stood up, taking back the tray and bringing it to the kitchen before he sets the kettle boiling. He grips the counter, teeth gritting in his mouth, tongue passing over his gums.

Newt has him. _Newt has him_. Why does he keep thinking of someone else?!

Cursing under his breath, Credence takes a chair and climbs on it, taking a bag of Rooibos tea and the bottle of ether in the high cupboard.

-

“Caught red-handed. Good job, Graves.”

Graves doesn’t reply, his right hand gripping his phone so hard he thinks he might break it, thumb typing the text as quickly as he can before hitting send.

-

Credence walks back into the room with a mug of steaming tea. Newt is sniffing, a tissue in his hands, nose and cheeks red. “There you go,” he says, placing the mug between Newt’s waiting hands. “Drink before it gets cold. It’ll help.”

Newt nods minutely, looking down. “Can you give me my phone? I heard it ting.”

“Sure,” Credence says, irritated. “Where is it?”

“Bag.”

Credence rummages through it before finding the device. He squints his eyes at the screen. “You got a text from _him_.”

“What does it says?”

“ _I miss you_ ,” Credence mocks, not seeing the way Newt pales and his body tenses. “He really is a pathetic old man.”

Newt doesn’t say anything. Slowly, he bring the mug to his lips and Credence follows the movement of his throat as he swallows, relieved. Newt will be calm in no time.

“I miss him too.”

Credence scowls. “You don’t need him. You have me.”

“It’s not the same, Credence. You can’t compare -”

“You’re right, it’s not. I’m better than he’ll ever be.”

Newt drinks another little sip, and then he says, “I feel sleepy.”

“I know,” Credence breathes. Newt takes another sip and yawns, eyelids drooping, and Credence quickly takes the cup from his hands - too fast, some of it slosh over the rim in the process and Credence hisses as it burns his skin - and places it on the floor before accompanying Newt in his fall. Credence makes him comfortable, taking off Newt’s shoes, putting a pillow below his head and covering him with a blanket before he brings the cup back to the kitchen, dropping the contents into the sink.

“Percival Graves,” he mutters. “What am I going to do with you?”

-

“Newt played his part well - we have what we need,” Seraphina says. “Irrefutable, visual proof that Credence used the bottle of ether, slipping a couple of drops in Newt’s tea. Good job, Graves.”

“I feel murderous,” Percival states.

“Try not to act on it, I won’t be able to pull you out of jail this time,” Seraphina warns. “Credence Barebone will be tried fair and square, on account of various charges.”

“I know.”

“Then you should get home,” she says, sympathetic. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” Graves says quietly. “I’ll see you later, Phina.”

“Good bye, Percival.”

-

“Newt.”

“Here,” Newt says, dropping his phone into Graves’ open hand. “Did you get the footage?”

“We did. The investigation is officially underway now. He'll be arrested in a couple of days.”

“I see,” Newt says, looking at the pavement.

“Newt,” Graves calls as Newt starts walking away. “For whatever it’s worth - I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Newt says. “I guess I had it coming, and I have no one to blame but myself.”

-

Graves reaches inside his pocket, taking the bottle of painkillers he carries with him and turns on the sink of the police station’s bathroom, swallowing three pills down for good measure. It’s tiring, doing everything with one arm. But then again, simply getting up is tiring. Graves splashes cold water on his face before raising his head, looking at his reflection.

His eyes are ringed with fatigue, his skin paler than it has the right to be.

Graves had hoped. He’d hoped that they wouldn’t find anything in Newt’s phone, because that would hurt Newt even further, but they did.

-

_“It’s hidden,” the hacker, a man named O’Brien, says. “You can install it on someone’s phone and they will never know. The app is completely invisible. It won’t appear in the downloads, on your screen, or amongst the other applications.”_

_“What does it do?”_

_“It tracks you. The app stays open permanently, and allows another person to know exactly where you are at all times. Not many people know about it, and those who do generally do not tell the person they’ve set it up.”_

_“So he does stalk him,” Graves murmurs._

_“Most likely, yes. Unless whoever this phone belongs to agreed to the situation.”_

_“I’ll ask him, but I doubt it. Thank you. Anything else?”_

_“No, sir. Nothing. I double checked.”_

_“Triple check and file a report with what you discovered.”_

_“Yes, Sir.”_

_“Please drop it by Madam Picquery’s office when it’s done.”_

_“Yes, Sir.”_

_“Good work.”_

_“Thank you, Sir.”_

_-_

Newt meets him outside the police station at eight pm, when the sky darkens, and takes his phone back, almost afraid to ask. Graves spares him. “Credence stalked you.”

Newt pales. “He did?”

“Yeah,”Graves says, throat tight in front of how devastated Newt looks. “Undetectable app.”

“He’s going to go to jail,” Newt says. “He _is_ going to end up in jail, isn’t he?”

“Well,” Graves winces. “We already have more than enough to incriminate him, the drug thing being the worst in his file - but - yes. And -” Graves clicks his jaw. “It would help if you filed a complaint against him.”

“I’ll think about it,” Newt says, hollow.

“Newt?” It’s a stupid thing to ask, but Graves still does it. “Are you alright?”

Newt comes closer to him, until they’re almost chest to chest and Graves takes a step back, shivering, the cold air having nothing to do with his reaction. He can’t help it.

“I cheated on you,” Newt whispers, maintaining eye contact. “A man who gave me everything, with another man who stalked me, stole drugs and used them on me, and harmed you. I’m not okay. I don’t think I ever will be.”

“I know,” Graves says, dark eyes meeting green. “But it gets better.”

“How can you, of all people, say that? After what happened to you? After what _I_ did to you?!”

“Because it already did,” Graves says softly. Taking a deep breath, he steps closer, trying to gauge himself. It’s fine. It’s Newt. Newt won’t hurt him - not physically. “I was getting better. After Grindelwald. Progressively. It took time, but I was. And I know - I know - that I can. Again. Get better. In one month. One year. Ten years. But I can.”

“I wish I was as strong as you,” Newt whispers. “Why did I leave you behind?”

“I can’t reply to that, Newt. But we both made mistakes.” Graves reaches out and cups the side of Newt’s face in his hand, trying to still the quiver of his own lower lip. “And we both can learn from them.”

Tears roll down Newt’s cheeks, the two men getting lost in their own world, in their own loss, in their own regrets.

Then Graves slowly lowers his hand and takes a step back, clearing his throat.

“Will you be alright going home?”

“To Credence’s?”

“Sorry,” Graves says. “That was a stupid question.”

“I have to,” Newt says.

“I know. Be careful.”

“What are your plans for the evening?” Newt asks, looking at Graves under his too-long fringe.

“I met an old friend on Thursday,” Graves says, smile soft on his lips at the memory. “I’ll be meeting her for a drink tonight.”

“Oh. Where?”

“ _The Lion’s Heart_.”

“I know it,” Newt says, startled. “It’s on my way.”

“Oh. Then you could - walk with me?” Graves asks.

“I will.”

-

_He’s at the police station again. Credence’s grip on his own phone tightens, dark eyes following the little red dot indicating Newt’s location in the world._

_Newt has changed. He insists on cooking their meals himself, despite the fact that he makes pretty much everything burn, or orders takeout before Credence has a chance to tell him what he wants. He gets up early, before Credence, and gets home late. He doesn’t talk._

_There are no more lazy morning kisses, sex or affectionate gestures between them. Newt is on edge around him, and Credence hates it. He wants to go back to the way they were before, before Percival Graves wasted everything with his whispered truths in Newt’s ear._

_But there is more. Newt wouldn’t believe Graves’ words incriminating Credence just like that. Because Credence has never been anything but kind to Newt, the same as Newt did for him. That’s what drew Credence to his light. This man that he met in the zoo as Credence was sketching the animals, this man who didn’t grimace when Credence showed him his distorted drawings._

_And now he might lose him - the best thing that happened to him - to a man Newt chose to leave a long time ago. Credence doesn’t understand why Newt now, of all times, keeps clinging to him._

_He figures Newt must know about the drugs. But he wouldn’t have drank the tea if he did._

_Then why does he keep dropping by the police station?_

_Is it just suspicion? Do they have proof? Or is Graves spilling lies down his throat, and Newt’s swallowing them?_

_He should have gotten rid of Graves earlier. Newt made it complicated - he refused to break up, some semblance of affection still linking him to the man even as he was rolling in bed with Credence, whispering his name like a prayer._

_They could have done this the easy way. Yet here they stand._

_Credence thinks about Mary Lou Barebone, and he acts._

_-_

Tina waves at him from where she’s waiting in front of the bar, smiling brightly. “Percival! And…” She looks at Newt curiously. “Who are you?”

“The friend I told you about,” Graves says. “For the case.”

“Oh!” Tina says, her eyes widening. “Did you check the phone like I said?”

“We did,” Graves says, grim. “And you were right.”

“Fuck. Well. Happy to be of help,” Tina opens the door to the bar and steps aside to let Graves in. “Come in, Perce, it’s cold outside -”

“May I join you?” Newt says suddenly. Graves looks back at him, bewildered, and Tina just shrugs and says, “Sure. The more the merrier, am I right?”

“Indeed,” Newt smiles. “And a drink sounds really good right now.”

Tina smiles back, and Graves watches, baffled, as the two of them settle on a table, taking off their coats and getting comfortable before Newt leaves them to get some drinks.

“Percival? Won’t you sit?”

“Right. Sorry.” Graves sits down on the bench, across Tina. “I’m just surprised Newt offered to accompany us.”

“Everyone needs a good drink once in awhile,” she says. “From what I understood he’s the victim in a rather fucked up case. Plus, you don’t know what else might be happening in his personal life at the same time.”

Graves laughs. “I do, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Rather fucked up. His lover of three years cheated on him with another man. Newt surprised them in bed together. Imagine that.”

Tina stares at him, gobsmacked. “Jesus! That’s awful! Poor him. That, and the investigation at the same time? How is he holding up?”

“God knows,” Graves mutters. Newt chooses that time to come back with two cocktails, depositing them on the table before going back to the bar to fetch the third, returning with it and sitting down next to Tina, facing Graves.

“Well,” Tina says, raising her glass in the air. “Cheers, gentlemen.”

“Cheers,” the men echo, Graves inclining his head towards her as the three of them toast.

“So,” Tina says after taking a long sip of her drink. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Scamander?”

“I’m a zoologist,” Newt replies, less stiff, the drink helping him. “I work at the Bronx Zoo - I care for animals. I’m thinking about writing a book about that, actually.”

“You are?” Graves says. “You never told me.”

“It was only an idea,” Newt says, looking away. “But I already drafted a few things.”

“That sounds really great, Mr…?”

“Please, call me Newt.”

“Newt. That’s a weird name.”

“Can’t be worse that the second one.”

“What’s the second one?”

“Artemis.”

“That’s beautiful,” Tina says. “Your mother was a fan of myths and legends, or is it something else?”

“No, you’re right. She was indeed,” Newt agrees. “We had at least five cats and she named them all after a God or Goddess.”

“Sounds like an interesting childhood.”

“It was. What about you?”

“I’m an engineer in…”

Graves lets their voices wash over him, feeling out of place, an injured, broken man in front of two energetic, curious youths like them. His glass is empty in no time, and then he finds himself without a thing to occupy his hands with. Tina looks at him from time to time, probably expecting him to chime in on the conversation, but Graves isn’t listening.

He’s observing.

Observing Newt. The way his hair falls in his eyes, the flex of his wrist as Newt sets his fringe back to be able to look at Tina. Graves’ eyes follow the line of his arm, up to his shoulder - his eyes find the curve of Newt’s mouth, stretching over his lips as he laughs at something Tina said. Newt doesn't just laugh with his lips - he laughs with everything. His eyes crinkle merrily at the corners, his nose wrinkles, his skin glows. His chuckle wraps itself around Graves’ heart and twists it. When was the last time Newt was so carefree around him? Graves almost forgot. Distantly, his heart tries to follow the memories as they come, but they sound like a song Graves forgot half the lyrics to.

He gets up, excuses himself to the bathroom. When he comes back he watches the two of them from a distance, laughing together.

They don’t need him.

Graves still walks up to them, says he’s not feeling well, and leaves the warmth of the bar to walk back to his flat.

-

“It has been a pleasure meeting you, Newt.”

“Me, too,” Newt says, shaking Tina’s hand. “Do you need me to accompany you to your place?”

“It’s fine. New York’s a busy city, and it’s barely eleven. No, I’ll go to check on Percival - he disappeared rather abruptly.”

Percival. Newt had almost forgotten him, what with the drinks making his mind fuzzy. He sobers up almost instantly. She’s right.

“Do you know where he lives?”

“Yes - we exchanged all necessary contact information when we first met.”

“Oh. Okay. Do you have keys, in case he’s - passed out on the couch, or in the shower, or simply doesn’t hear you?”

“No,” Tina says. “But he should hear me if I knock, right?”

“Oh, no. When he sleeps - truly sleeps - it’s usually because his body is so exhausted it has no other choice but to shut down, and he wouldn’t hear it if a lion roared right in his ear. No, here, take this -” Newt rummages through his bag, taking out a key chain. He detaches one key from the ring and gives it to Tina. “Just in case.”

Tina stares at it, then at him. “He gave you the keys to his apartment?”

“Yes.”

“Is there something I’m missing here?” She asks, suspicious. Newt smiles at her sadly.

“Good night, Tina. Be careful.”

“Newt, wait -”

“Go.”

-

It’s the sound of his phone, ringing and vibrating in his pocket, that jolts Graves awake. Grunting, he takes the damned device out, squinting his eyes at the caller.

“Tina?”

“Percival,” she calls. “I don’t have the code to your flat.”

“What?” He says, rubbing at his eyes. “What are you even doing here?”

“Percy, please. Mind letting me in? Or would you really leave a woman out in the cold at this hour?”

“Jesus - okay. It’s 3A75C. I live on the second floor, there’s an elevator. My name is on the door.”

“Perfect,” Tina replies. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

She hangs up and Graves slowly pulls himself up until he’s sitting on his sofa instead of half collapsed against the pillows. His head hurts. He took painkillers recently and as he cannot, unfortunately, overdose on it, he resorts to walking to his bathroom in search of the sleeping pills he bought. He finds them even as Tina knocks on the door and he quickly opens it to her.

“Hey,” she says, walking into his flat, perfectly at ease.

“Tina,” he says over the headache. “I'm really tired. I appreciate you coming here, but - oh, you can stay the night, I’m not throwing you out. Make yourself at home. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“Okay,” Tina says. “I just needed to check on you. You did leave rather abruptly.”

“Yeah,” Graves mumbles. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

“You don’t look well,” Tina says. “Percival. I’m not blind. I know there’s something you’re not telling me, and I know Newt is involved.”

Graves closes his eyes. “Tina, I can’t. Not tonight.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah, whatever you want - I just want to lay down and get some sleep.”

“Okay,” she says softly. “Can I borrow the bathroom?”

“Yes. Good night, Tina.”

“Good night, Percy.” She waves at him before walking to the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Graves walks to the kitchen, filling a glass with water before he return to his living room, slumping on the sofa again. He grabs the sleeping pills in his pocket and eyes them, taking two and swallowing them in quick succession.

Then he lays down, one arm over his forehead. He’ll need to get up soon - to put on proper pajamas, to get a blanket, to brush his teeth - but his body feels heavy as he sinks into the couch, his breathing deep and slow. He doesn’t want to open his eyes ever again.

-

“Percy?” Tina calls, receiving no reply. The lights are still on in the house. Her wet hair wrapped in a towel, Tina walks into the living room, sighing at the sight that greets her. Percival is half sitting and half lying on the couch, lips parted, snoring slightly. His brows are furrowed, even in sleep, and Tina sees the tablet of sleeping pills beside his hand.

Shaking her head, she steps closer, deciding what to do before settling on ‘trying to make him as comfortable as possible’. She gently slips her hands underneath his torso, lifting him up, his head lolling on his shoulders as she lays him down properly on the couch. She takes off his shoes and socks, places his legs on the sofa as well. She finds a blanket in his bedroom closet and wraps it over him, tucking him in the best she can. Graves shivers in his sleep and Tina smiles at him before leaning down and kissing his forehead.

“I can’t believe I found you again,” she says fondly.

She turns off the lights as she leaves the room and walks to his bedroom. The sheets smell like him, and Tina hums in contentment as her head finally hits the pillow, entire body relaxing. Sleep finds her quickly. The only sound in the apartment is their soft breathing, a hushed melody of life while the world keeps on spinning around them.

-

Graves wakes up. For a minute he does not know what pulled him out of sleep, until he hears someone knock on the door repeatedly. A quick look at his watch indicates that it’s barely six thirty am, and he wonders who in the world wakes people up at this ungodly hour. He feels fuzzy. His broken arm is throbbing. The knocking gets louder, more insistent, followed by the doorbell and Graves groans out a ‘Coming!’ and gets up slowly, his vision darkening on the edges before righting itself again.

Tina must still be sleeping in the bedroom. On naked feet, Graves heads to the door, trying to ignore the dry, gross feeling in his mouth and passing his hand through his hair to make himself slightly more presentable. He fully intends to glare at whoever it is - who the hell visits so early on a Sunday morning?! - but his intentions fail him once he sees who exactly is on the other side of the door. Credence stands in front of him, eyes meeting Mr. Graves’. He looks impeccable and Graves feels inadequate, and the kid knows it, the bastard - a lazy smile forming on his lips as he takes in Graves’ appearance.

“Mr. Graves.”

“What do you want?” Graves grunts.

“I came to apologize, and I need to talk about Newt with you. May I come in?”

Graves eyes him warily, tiredly. “Apologize?”

“Yes. For behaving the way I did.” Credence bites his lips and looks away. “I am sorry I pushed you down the stairs and insulted you.”

He really does sound contrite, and Graves squints his eyes at him. He is not fully awake yet, and under the influence of sleeping pills his mind can’t quite make up whether Credence is sincere or not.

Deciding coffee will help him in making a decision, Graves steps aside. The young man follows him, eyes taking in Graves’ apartment curiously.

Graves walks to the kitchen, makes himself coffee and does not offer any to his guest. Credence doesn’t mind. He politely waits at the doorway to the kitchen for Graves to finish his cup, staring at him as Graves drinks and burns his tongue in the process. Credence’s presence revives phantom pains - Graves is acutely aware of his broken arm, of the bruise at his side, and he knows that should Credence decide to attack again Graves has much less chances of defending himself. His mind is fuzzy. He shouldn’t have let Credence in, but Graves doesn't want to show fear in the face of this twenty year old.

Graves finishes his coffee and leads Credence to the living-room, walking behind him.

“Feeling better, Mr. Graves?” Credence asks lightly.

“Yeah,” Graves says, shaking his head to clear it. Now he regrets taking those sleeping pills. “But let’s have this conversation somewhere more comfortable.”

Upon arrival Graves sees the tossed blanket on the couch, the sleeping pills on the floor and his shoes and socks at the end of the couch and flushes. Without thinking, he hastily walks towards the mess, taking the blanket and folding it into a neat square. He turns back to Credence and says, “Let me just tidy things up -” and his voice winds out at the end of his sentence, Credence having just punched him square in the stomach.

Graves goes tumbling backwards. His knees bump against the front of the couch and he falls on it, crashing down against the pillows. Credence’s aim was no coincidence -  he punched the bruise in Graves’ side, and as the older man tries to regain his breath Credence grabs the side of his face to yank his hair, pressing a hand over his bruise and forcing Graves down until he is laying on his right side. He sees Credence’s hands hover over his left arm, bites his tongue and yells out a “NO!” before Credence confidently grips his broken arm in both hands and _moves_ it.

Graves’ whole body seizes up, his vision whitens and when he comes to he is trembling all over. There’s a weight on his chest and Graves realizes with a start that Credence has taken advantage of his temporary faintness to climb on top of him, legs on either side of Graves’ hips trapping him against the leather at his back. Graves opens his mouth to talk, to defend himself, to do anything - and Credence hits Graves’ arm again, hard. Graves chokes on a sob, body sagging against the couch as he tries to fight his way through the pain slowly turning his skin into its home.

Distantly, he sees Credence adjust his watch and doesn’t understand.

“Three minutes, Mr. Graves.”

_What?_

Credence grabs one of the pillows, the big, red one Graves likes and holds it up in front of him like the Eucharist. Then he smiles, and even dazed, sleepy and blinded by pain Graves _understands._ He pales, cold sweat shooting up his spine; his heart beats faster, sensing the danger, and Graves makes a move to get up but before he has a chance to Credence crushes the pillow over his face.

Darkness blinds him. He can’t see anything, can’t breathe. His legs thrash behind Credence’s back, his hips rolling up, trying to throw his murderer off. His right arm searches Credence’s own, nails scratching at the skin of his hands, drawing blood, but Credence is relentless, all of his weight dedicated to keeping the pillow in place over Graves’ face as long as necessary, slowly but surely choking him to death.

Graves can’t breathe. _He can’t breathe!_

The ghost of a rope wraps itself around his throat. His breath comes in short little gasps, the little wisps of air he manages to get beneath the press of the pillow not nearly enough to fill the burning in his lungs. It rushes through him - the need to breathe, the will to _live_ \- and _he is back in the basement, Grindelwald grinning at him, trying to survive -_  

Graves’ screams are muffled, Credence licking his lips as Graves’ movements start to weaken. Three minutes. The man must be starting to slip in an out of consciousness by now, and before long he won’t be moving at all. Credence only needs to keep the pillow over his face for about ten minutes more to make sure he’s dead, and then he’ll leave the flat -

Someone yanks his hair back and Credence cries out, hands automatically flying to his head, letting go of Graves. The stranger drags him to the ground, and Credence realizes with a start that it’s a woman, if the naked, hairless legs in front of him are any indication.

“ _What the fuck is wrong with you?_ ” She screams, letting go of him. Credence immediately makes a move to get up but there’s a gun in his face and he hears a click as she removes the safety. Credence kneels, ever so slowly, and looks at Graves’ prone form on the couch.

He was almost done.

“If you make one move to get up I will shoot you,” she seethes. “The police will be here soon, I called them. Oh, Jesus, Percival -”

“He’s dead,” Credence states. “You were too late.”

“He’s not. It takes more than that to kill a man like Percival Graves, you little fucking cunt.”

“Oh?” Credence’s eyes follow the line of Graves’ body on the couch. The man isn’t moving, red pillow still over his face, his right arm hanging over the side of the couch, curled fingertips touching the floor. His bed nails are blue. He sees the woman pale, gun trembling in her unsteady hands, and continues. “He seems pretty dead to me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” The woman snarls, torn between running to the couch to make sure Graves is okay but not knowing what to do while this young man - the predator -  is still free and inside the room.

She could shoot him. She _will_ shoot him. That should be enough to distract him while she takes care of Percival.

“Get up,” she orders. Credence doesn’t obey. “Get. Up. Or I swear to God it’s not your knee I will shoot, it’s your fucking head.”

Credence pales. “You can’t -”

“Get. Up.”

Credence does so shakily. Tina doesn’t give him time to run away and immediately shoots him in the knee. Credence collapses on the floor, howling in pain, and Tina ignores him, eyes tearing up as she runs to Percival’s side. She throws the pillow away from him and leans her head near his face, looking at his chest and waiting.

It neither rises nor falls. Graves is not breathing.

Tina doesn’t think - she acts. She lifts Graves’ body, struggling with his weight and places him on the floor before she kneels next to him, tilting his head back to open his airway, prying his cold mouth open, pinching his nose and sharing her first breath with him. His chest rises, soft and tentative, and Tina does it once more before pressing both hands in the center of his chest near his heart, regularly, imitating the life that’s missing within him.

And then she repeats it all over again.

And again. Waiting for a miracle.

Credence has resorted to sobbing quietly in a corner, hugging his wounded knee to his chest, and Tina keeps going. She tires, but she keeps going.

“Come on. Percival, please please please - I’ve just found you again, you can’t leave me - you have to _live_!”

Two breaths, fifteen heartbeats.

“I swear to God -”

Two breaths, fifteen heartbeats.

“If - you - don’t - open - your - eyes - right - now,” she pants, “I’ll - never - forgive - you!”

Someone knocks on the door and Tina feels relief wash over her. “YES!” She yells, half hysterical. “HERE! QUICKLY!”

The medics break down the door and rush inside, and Tina retreats, letting Percival into their hands. Someone presses a oxygen mask over his face, two of them raise him up to move him on a stretcher. Credence is being cared for too, and Tina informs the police officers of his crime. Someone places a shock blanket over Tina’s shoulders, and Tina follows them on shaking legs as they take Percival away to the ambulance. “I’m coming with him.”

“Madam, you can’t. You’d just be in the way.”

“I’m. Coming. With. Him,” she whispers. “I just kept him alive until you arrived. I’m coming with him.”

The medic doesn’t protest anymore and Tina follows Percival into the ambulance, her heart hollow. She squeezes her body against the side of the car, making herself tiny as the medics work to keep Graves alive. But his eyes stay impossibly, desperately closed, and Tina intertwines her fingers in a desperate prayer.

“Please, Percival.”

“Percival. Live.”

“Live. I want you to live.”

_Live._

 

_-_

 

“And as you lived, Percival Graves, what did you learn?”

“Sometimes people do the things they do simply because they know they can.”

“What did you learn?

“Sometimes trauma does not make you stronger. It just _hurts_ and keeps hurting until you wish it was over, but it can never be.”

“What did you learn?”

“I can still keep on living. I can still keep on _loving_. Maybe it’s a defect, and maybe it’s a strength.”

“Do you have to be alone?”

“No.”

“Do you wish you were alone?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you feel guilty?”

“Yes.”

“Do you sleep?”

“Better.”

“Does it hurt?”

“God, yes.”

“Will you be fine?”

Graves takes a deep breath and looks at the sky.

“ _Yes_.”

 

-

The End.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue to be posted next Wednesday !


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a wild ride, and I am thrilled to have been able to share it with you guys. Thank you <3

_ 6 months later. _

 

“Mr. Graves?” 

Graves turns around, tearing his eyes away from the familiar drawings on the walls of the waiting room. 

“Dr. Graham,” he greets the other man with a trusting smile. 

“Please,” Dr. Graham smiles back, pushing his glasses up his nose and letting Graves pass in front of him to enter his office. “Come in.” 

-

“Do you have news from Newt?” Tina asks him over the phone. 

“No,” Graves says, taking a long drag of his cigarette and blowing smoke at the sky. “The last time I saw him was at Credence’s trial.” 

-

_ From :  _ **_Newt Scamander_ ** _ <newt.scamander@gmail.com> _

_ To : porpentinygodstein@gmail.com _

_ Date : 15th August 2011 at 4:14 pm _

_ Subject : Re : Hello  _

_ hey Tina,  _

_ thanks for the email. we have two newborns at the zoo! Daniela and Thomas are healthy, small baby tigers and their mom is proud. we’re all proud. my book is progressing quite well too. I might have found an editor interested in what i have to say. I’m trying to find it a title, something like fantastic beasts and how to care for them? _

_ i’m still moving into my own flat, figuring out how things go in this area of new york.  i attached pictures below. i’ll invite you over when you come back in NY. i hope you will soon. do you have news from percival?  _

_ yours,  _

_ Newt.  _

-

“How is the therapy going?” Queenie asks, setting a small plate in front of him, her wedding ring gleaming in the sunlight falling on Graves’ table.

“Good.” Graves clears his throat. “Very good. I’m making progress. I didn’t think it was possible.” 

“Well, you still got wings. They may be broken and torn, but you still got wings. As long as you keep on breathing, as long as your heart keeps beating, then you can be fine.”

-

“INMATES! Attention!” The guard’s booming voice echoes around the room. Credence sighs and marks the page he’s stopped at before dutifully standing up next to his bed, waiting for whatever orders they will have to follow. 

The guard passes in front of them and stops in the middle of the room, looking down at the sheet of paper he holds in his hand. “When I call your name,” he barks, “I want you to step in line in front of me, no questions asked! Miller, Ted!”

A tall, gangly man with glasses up his nose and a scar on his upper lip leaves the corner of the room, taking place in front of the guard. “Betemit Colin! Brown William! Johnson Oliver! Barebone Credence! Walker, Jerry! Travis…” 

Credence imitates them. When the guard is done he folds the paper in four and puts it inside his pants pocket - Credence’s eyes following the movement, falling on the heavy weight of the gun and the billy on his hips - before raising his head and looking at them all. The guard’s mouth turns down into a grimace. “You got five minutes to pick up your stuff and get back there.” 

“Are we leaving, Sir?” Credence asks politely. 

“Who the fuck said you could talk?” 

“Sorry, Sir.” 

The guard glares at him for a minute before he deigns to answer. “Yeah. You’re being transferred. We got new inmates coming in and no space for them - so scum like the lot of you are getting transferred out of state to some place with higher security.”

Credence raises an eyebrow but doesn’t dare comment further. Around him, the other inmates are already moving - those who were not called returning back to their duties or activities - and Credence follows, returning to his bunk to put his belongings into a bag. A few drawings, pencils, a picture of Newt. He joins the other prisoners and the guard beckons them to move, turning his back on them, other guards following behind, their hands on the weapons at their side. 

They climb into a bus and drive. None of them have any idea where they’re going. 

Credence sleeps. 

-

When they arrive at the new prison facility the sun is shining outside. The building is bigger, grey walls crowning over them, more men in blue uniforms standing guard outside. 

They step out of the bus, lining themselves up against the car body while one of the guards calls the rolls. Credence raises his chin, high, as they start walking to the entrance of the prison and inside its walls. 

“These the new inmates?” A guard asks, gruff, at their own, and the latter nods in confirmation. “Their places have been assigned already - gather ‘round me!” He yells at them. 

They do, and the guard flips a few papers he holds over a sheet protector. “You’ll each be paired with one of our own inmates, maybe two. That should help you get settled,” he says. Local prisoners gather around, staring at them, gauging them, tension rising in the room. Who will be the unlucky ones? 

“Miller Ted, you go with Marty Neal and Rufus Young. Brown, with William Warfield. And Credence Barebone…” 

The guard pauses as he reads the name, and Credence tenses. “Credence Barebone, you’re paired with Gellert Grindelwald. Who the fuck wrote this shit,” he mutters, “Kid - good luck.” 

There are a few snickers around them, wide eyes and disbelieving smiles. Credence holds his head higher, refusing to be intimated by a name, no matter what reactions it incites from the other inmates around him. 

The guard continues to call them. When he’s done they get moving again, Credence clutching his bag to his chest. The other prisoners leave them one by one, going into their new, respective bunk, preparing themselves for the power play that comes with walking into a predator’s den. 

Grindelwald’s bunk is at the end of the corridor and Credence is the last one to be dropped off. The guard leaves him with a pat on his shoulder and that is not supposed to happen. 

Hesitantly, Credence steps in. There’s a man lying on the top bunk, arms crossed behind his head. Credence clears his throat and the man sits up slowly, looking down at him. He sports white hair and mismatched eyes. 

“Hello, Pretty. I think you might have gotten lost,” Grindelwald whispers. 

“No,” Credence says, setting his own bag on the bed below Grindelwald. “I’m your new roommate.” 

Grindelwald’s lips slowly turn up into a smirk. “And what are you in for?” 

“Attempted murder.” 

Grindelwald steeples his fingers under his chin. “And why did you fail?” 

“He had unexpected help,” Credence says, low. Grindelwald shakes his head and makes a disapproving sound.

“Ah, ah, darling. It seems I’m going to have to teach you everything.” 

Credence raises his head. 

“Provided a means of compensation.” 

“Anything,” Credence says. If he can get Grindelwald’s protection, he’ll live. 

“Then make yourself at home, Pretty.” 

“Credence.” 

“Gellert Grindelwald.” 

“They all seem to be afraid of you outside,” Credence murmurs. 

“And perhaps you’ll find out why,” Grindelwald hums as he resumes his previous relaxed position on the bed. 

“I hope so.” 

Grindelwald grins. “Cheeky little thing, aren’t you? I’m going to enjoy you, Pretty.” 

Credence smiles. The game is on. 

“Likewise.”

\- 

The end.

-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONJOUR, bear with me, I have many things to say. 
> 
> First, I can’t put into words how much your kudos and especially your comments mean to me. I hadn’t written for a long time and FBAWTFT made me want to try again. Guilty... was like a fever once I started : I just had to write it all down before I could move on. So I spent a lot of time on it, re-read it again and again to make sure it was perfect, and even if I have never lived something like what Graves is going through this fic remains quite personal.  
> So it has been an absolute joy to know that other people were enjoying it as well! 
> 
> And special thanks to Qed for her long comments on each chapter : they were something I looked forward to each time I posted, and I can’t thank you enough. They’re also incredibly on point, so if you feel like you haven’t understood something in the fic just go and read what she told me because it’s as if she wrote it XD 
> 
> Here are a few songs that have inspired Guilty :   
> Guilty - Rag'N'Bone Man (the reason it all started)   
> Bitter End - Rag'N'Bone Man   
> Happy Ending - Mika 
> 
> -
> 
> The support makes me want to write even more to become even better, and I can’t thank you guys enough for giving me that kind of confidence :) 
> 
> Please feel free to come chat with me or yell at me on my tumblr (@thegaypumpingthroughyourveins) because it makes me really happy :D


	8. Bonus art !

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

HELLO !  

Today was my birthday, and I have received many gifts from various people in the fandom - including art for Guilty.  

**[Qed221b](http://qed221b.tumblr.com/)** is a kind, incredibly talented soul who is also the author of the fic[ Secrets](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8670217/chapters/19875391) on AO3 (which I urge all of you to check out) and she happens to be very very good at the drawing thing. Please do yourself a favor and check out her tumblr. 

The comic below was my birthday present and I haven't stopped screaming - and tearing up - ever since I saw it. Words fail me to thank her, and I had to share it with you guys. 

Thank you, Maddi. I love you <3

 


	9. more bonus art !!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I commissioned the wonderful [@questionartbox ](http://questionartbox.tumblr.com/) to draw some art for Guilty and she delivered wonderfully today. This is a scene from chapter 6 - hopefully you can recognize it. 

 

* * *

 

> _“I wish I was as strong as you,” Newt whispers. “Why did I leave you behind?”_
> 
> _“I can’t reply to that, Newt. But we both made mistakes.” Graves reaches out and cups the side of Newt’s face in his hand, trying to still the quiver of his own lower lip. “And we both can learn from them.”_

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just, I can't. Look at them. It is them. The both of them, standing outside the police station. A young, tall Newt, being comforted by this man he hurt so much. 
> 
> And Graves. Let me stare at him for hours. The sling. The coat sleeve, tucked into his pocket. The bruises on his face, the band aid. hIS SUIT. HIS COAT. HIS F A C E. 
> 
> The NPD police sign behind them. 
> 
> I can't. I am over the moon, about ready to spend the next 24 hours looking at this piece. She brought them to life. If you can, go on Tumblr and check her blog - and commission her. She is a wonderful artist, an all around amazing person and I couldn't be happier with this piece. 
> 
> Thank you. 


	10. All was well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a quick, short alternate ending for this verse in which Newt didn't fuck up while discussing with Funkzpiel and since I made myself sad, you all get to be sad too.

* * *

 

Graves turns the key in the lock, silently entering his apartment. He takes off his coat and hangs it on the coat-rack, dropping his case on the floor and getting rid of his gun holster a second later. He hears music from his and Newt’s bedroom, and he imagines Newt must be sitting on their bed and drawing, as he sometimes does. Graves passes a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it back. He sees the bathroom and decides to brush his teeth and, thinking that this is as good as he’s going to look, remembers his accomplishment, imagines Newt’s surprise and pride, and walks towards their bedroom confidently for the first time in months, feeling a bit more like his older self.

The door is slightly ajar so Graves pushes it open, smiling at what he sees. As predicted Newt is on their bed, legs crossed and a pout on his face as he quickly scribbles something down on a piece of paper. He is humming quietly at the same time as the music is playing, and he startles when Percival enters.

“Percival!” Newt beams at him, warm and inviting. “You’re home early!”

Percival smiles back, letting out a relieved sigh he didn’t know he’d been holding. Newt makes a move to get up but Percival holds a hand up to stop him, before walking over to the bed and sitting down on the edge of it.

He takes Newt’s hand in his, and it’s enough to make Newt’s breath hitch. Then Graves kisses Newt’s knuckles, the softest brush of his lips against Newt’s skin and Newt whispers a small, “Percival?” that breaks his heart.

“I missed you,” Percival replies softly in lieu of an explanation. “And I’m sorry, Newt. For everything.”

“Don’t,” Newt shakes his head, eyes tearing up. “Don't. You needed time to recover, I understand that -”

“The mission went well,” Percival says quietly. “I hoped it would. I wanted it to. I’m fine now, Newt. I’m fit for duty again. I will…” Graves squeezes Newt’s hand. “I  _ will _ look for a new therapist. The last one sucked. And I’m going to heal and move forward, love, and I want you by my side when I do that. I know that I…” Percival looks away, struggling to find the right words. “I haven’t been the most - the greatest partner the past couple of months, but I - in spite of everything that happened - I  _ love _ you, Newt. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t want to lose you. But I understand if you… If you don’t want -” Graves blinks, trying to keep the tears from falling. As difficult as the words are to say, Newt needs to know he has a choice. The choice to be free from Graves and his issues and walk away.

“I understand if you don’t want this - us - anymore,” Graves’ voice breaks.

There's silence, and then Newt whacks him on the side of the head.

“Ow!” Graves grimaces, rubbing the sore spot with a hand. “Guess I deserved that.”

“You utter  _ idiot _ ,” Newt breathes. “You really think I’d walk away like that  _ now _ ? I love you too, you imbecile! I stuck with you! And yes, it wasn’t easy, but look at you - you’ve made progress already! Like hell I’m going to leave you now - you'd be lost without me!”

Graves does cry, then - but he also laughs, heart bubbling with happiness, before bringing Newt’s hands to his lips and kissing them again and again. Then he looks at Newt, at the tear tracks on his cheeks and his wavering smile. At Newt,  _ his _ Newt, who loves him, who keeps loving him.

Slowly, tentatively, Percival leans in and places a quick kiss on Newt’s lips.

“Percival…” Newt starts.

“I’m fine,” Percival says, laughing again, proudly. “I can hold you. I can kiss you. I can do - other things. In time. It will take time, but I can. I love you, Newt. God, _ I love you. _ ”

Newt smiles, soft and kind, and he whispers back like a prayer, like a promise, “I love you too.”

 

* * *

 


End file.
